Thirty Years
by Mistressdickens
Summary: A look at the married lives of the Carsons, told through the wedding anniversaries they share together. Various cameos from Anna, Daisy, Beryl, Tom and Isobel, amongst others, helping to show that the life they lived was filled with the friends and family their life in service had given them.
1. Paper (1926)

**A/N: Ever since Mrs Hughes said 'we'll be doing things your way for the next 30 years' I've been having plot bunnies about how to show them (as well as conversations with various people about how old they would be, and all of that). This finally seemed like the right time to commit those thoughts to paper. My thanks go to CSoTA, DaniiShep and Dibdab for their cheering from the side-lines, and Dibdab for her beta work. May I offer my sincere apologies to those on tumblr for basically being a fic tease for this whole week. There are occasional nods to other works of mine in terms of references to things that have happened (the most obvious being 'Valentines are for the young' and 'Happiness tastes of champagne'). My head canon follows the rule that they got married on 12** **th** **April**

 **Also, I feel like I should point out now that the other chapters I have planned probably won't be as long as this one. This is what happens when you leave something to percolate in your head for months. Quite by chance, this turns out to be my thirtieth Downton story**

Year 1: Paper (1926)

Charles and Elsie Carson had faced many firsts together over their years of service, but the shift in their personal relationship had occasioned some experiences neither had ever thought to have. As 1926 began, bringing with it more upheaval and change through Mr Carson's retirement, further firsts were presented to them. The best of these arguably being their first wedding anniversary.

As the year progressed, Elsie found herself wondering if the anniversary might have come sooner had they managed to communicate better. His valentine's present (a book of Shakespeare sonnets inscribed 'To my one and only Elsie, with love from Charlie') brought a wry smile to her lips as she remembered the strange mixed signals from the year before, and he had surprised her one morning in early March by waking her from a deep sleep with kisses all over her body. When asked for an explanation (which she didn't really need) he lightly replied that he was checking for warts. She entirely missed the staff breakfast that morning.

But she was glad, in a way, that the anniversary of their marriage was not until April. The traditional gift was paper. Try as she might, she could think of nothing more original to give him than some monogrammed stationery. Not very romantic.

She was still pondering the problem a week before the event, when the solution presented itself during her catch up meeting with Lady Grantham.

'I'm sorry the luncheon on Friday prevents you taking the whole day off Mrs Hughes. The first anniversary is such a special occasion.'

'Please don't trouble yourself Milady.' Elsie smiled warmly at the other woman. 'Mr Carson and I will celebrate quite well enough in the evening.'

'I'm sure you will, and you must take the Saturday for yourself. That way you can stay up to celebrate as long as you wish.'

Elsie inclined her head in thanks, but could not stop the rosy flush of her cheeks as she caught the underlying double meaning. Lady Grantham smiled knowingly at her, although she blushed slightly too.

'I'd like to find the person who suggested paper as a good theme for first anniversaries though' said Elsie, casting desperately about for a change of topic. 'I'd give them a stern talking to!'

'Oh I know' sympathised Cora. 'But it can be a chance to be more creative. Lord Grantham covered the entire bedroom with pink hearts he'd cut out himself!'

'Oh!' Elsie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with an idea. Cora looked intrigued and she hasted to explain.

'Your story put me in mind of something Milady. I won't be making paper hearts, but I do believe you've solved the problem – thank you.'

The only question, she thought as she returned to her sitting room, was whether she could find the item in question without her husband being aware of her search. A brief scan of the sitting room confirmed it wasn't at the Abbey. Perhaps she could creep around the spare room that evening.

Friday, and their anniversary, rolled around swiftly. It pained her to get up early and dress in the semi darkness, receiving only a sleepy kiss and a mumbled 'I love you' as she did so. She knew he had not forgotten, as they had shared a glass of wine the night before and regaled each other with how they'd spent the eve of their wedding, both of them admitting they had wished to break with tradition more than once. She had finally revealed the full story of the coat to him, and he'd kissed her passionately, attempting to make up for the distress he'd be unable to dispel the year before.

The memories of the previous evening warmed her as she made her solitary way to the Abbey, but she could not rid herself of the wish that she could withdraw from her duties – a surprising thought, and one which she tucked away to look at in greater detail on a later date.

The luncheon was a success, as of course it would be with herself and Mr Barrow in charge, but the rest of the downstairs family appeared to be suffering the day from hell and constantly threw their problems in her direction that afternoon. Even Anna presented her with baby William to tend for a full half an hour whilst she went on some vague errand for Lady Mary, and she found it impossible to leave any earlier than she had planned. In fact it was past five when she finally managed to gather her things and leave. Even then she was called back by Mrs Patmore, but the short tempered reply died as the cook presented her with a grand apple pie, an entwined C and E picked out on the pastry, and accompanied the gift with a saucy wink and an order to enjoy herself.

She walked briskly up the lane towards the cottage in the gathering dusk, her eyes shining with anticipation, wondering what the evening would hold, and whether he would be pleased with his gift. The trees in the lane came to their abrupt end, revealing the cottage and she stopped short, unable to take another step as she gazed at the building. At every window, including the ones in the eaves, and at the front door, hung a coloured paper lantern, a little flame winking within them. A deeply warm light illuminated the windows of the sitting room, but, she noted as she stepped closed to inspect the source, the room was carefully concealed by tightly closed curtains.

'I knew you'd try to peek.' He stood in the doorway at the other end of the cottage and she hurried to greet him, giving him a quick kiss before stepping back to look up at him.

'Have you been lurking in the doorway for long?'

'Not really – my spies alerted me to your imminent arrival.'

'Your spies? Do you mean to tell me I've been bombarded by trivial annoyances at _your_ request?'

He had the grace to look a touch ashamed, but his merry grin won out as he responded. 'How else was I to make sure you didn't suddenly turn up in the middle of my preparations? I do confess to using Anne for my own gains – Mr Barrow rang to say you were almost ready to leave and Andy was still halfway up a ladder putting the final lantern in place!'

'Well, I'll not deny it was lovely to spend a little time with William. Am I to be allowed into my own home now?'

'Be my guest' he replied, stepping back and indicating the way with a butlerish flourish of his hand. She rolled her eyes at him, laughing a little as she moved into the hallway, nothing that the door to the sitting room was firmly shut. It appeared to be adorned with the big paper heart someone had unearthed on their return from honeymoon.

She set down her basket to shrug off her coat, but he was immediately behind her, pulling the fabric away, somehow managing to touch every inch of her shoulders and arms as he did so. She sighed, remembering the way he'd removed that other coat a year ago. He moved away momentarily to hang it next to his and then he was back, standing behind her. She expected him to lay a hand on her shoulder as he had done on that previous evening, but instead he cradled the back of her head, still covered by her hat, and slowly removed the pin which held it firm.

He did not move away to put the hat down, but instead stepped impossibly closer to her and curled his free arm about her middle so that there was not the tiniest space between them. His face seemed to bury itself in the side of her hair and he breathed in the scent of lavender and Pear's soap that had always been part of his association with her, but now brought him happiness as well as comfort.

Her hat fell to the floor as he brought his other arm about her and spread his hands over her middle, so that they seemed to cover her midsection entirely. Occasionally one of his fingers moved lightly, wanting to caress even a small part of her. She relaxed completely into him, lifting her hands so that they covered his, her thumbs finding the inside of his wrists instantly. They did not speak, but the thoughts communicated were crystal clear. 'I love you, I miss you' his touch told her. It was something he rarely admitted, the fact he felt lost at times, but she knew it well enough, because she felt it too.

She heard his steady breath in her ear as he continued to hold her close and thought how completely right this closeness was. They had spent a lifetime together, separated by formality, and that made this newer intimacy that much more precious.

One of his hands, she realised, was moving upwards slowly, and although he could not properly feel the start of the swell of her breasts, because of her corset, both of them knew how it would feel if she were less clothed. The pressure of his hand became firmer, her head rolled to the right a little, and finally, finally, his lips touched the pale skin just behind her ear. They both expelled a breathy little sigh of relief at the contact.

'Why did I think it was a good idea to involve so many people planning tonight.' he murmured against her neck. She gave a little tinkle of a laugh as she caught his true meaning, the regret that he could not just sweep her upstairs to their bed, given the band of helpers who would expect a full report when she returned to work. She gave his hands a squeeze and turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes. 'Later' her own eyes seemed to promise as she regarded him seriously and moved her hands to his shoulders.

They stood, gazing at each other, in the hush of their home and each of them wondered at the way fate had brought them together. His kiss was soft, tender and all too brief for her liking. He drew back and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the top of it, and moved to open the door to the kitchen.

'Happy anniversary my love.'

The part of the kitchen she could see from the door looked much as it usually did, but as she properly entered the room, the table at the end caught her eye and she turned to stare at him in disbelief.

'Does the Abbey have any of its silverware to use tonight?'

The dining table was set up as if it were expecting royalty, with a large candelabra in the middle, whilst every other available space in the room was covered with single candlesticks so that the room was filled with golden light. She noticed with a tug of her heart that the two settings were at right angles to each other, so that he would be to her left, as he had been throughout their time at the Abbey, rather than all the way across the other side of the table.

'Andy assured me Mr Barrow said they wouldn't be missed.'

Elsie smiled fondly at this pronouncement. The new butler was rarely mentioned in their home, and any complaints she might have were generally expressed to Mrs Patmore, but she could see how flattered he was to have had his support in this matter.

'He's truly a credit to you Charles, as well as to his own determination.'

Charles did not really answer this, although he sent a warm glance in her direction and managed to brush her arm with his hand as he moved past her to a silver bucket which stood by the table.

'Would you like some Champagne?'

'Very much.'

She watched as he moved to lift the bottle from its place and noticed the infinitesimal hesitation as he reached for the glass.

'Would you like me to pour?'

It was not that his palsy had increased of late that caused her to make the offer, indeed it had been barely present in the last few months, but she had learned to recognise the situations which provoked the shaking. Stress was always a largely contributing factor, and whilst this evening could hardly be called stressful, the heightened sensitivity between them had clearly had an effect. She had felt the slight tremor in his hand as it skimmed her body in the hallway and decided that the offence the question might cause was a better dampener to the evening than broken glass.

He stiffened as he heard her, but his eyes were soft as he turned to look over and shook his head. 'I'm fine. Ask me again in a few years though.'

She smiled and turned away slightly as he returned to pouring so that he would not be put off by her supposed scrutiny.

Moments later he was by her side, passing her a glass of wine. She could see the fine haze of bubbles pop at the top of the glass and hear the faint fizz as they did so. She turned so that she faced him fully, holding the glass whilst one finger ran around the rim, making it sing in a clear note.

'Thank you. What exactly are we celebrating?'

She'd asked this with practically no expression on her face, her eyes looking up to his unblinkingly. He caught the humour in her voice, however, and his own eyes sparkled with the shared emotion as he replied.

'We're celebrating that this old curmudgeon can still be assured of the love of a wonderful woman, even after a year of marriage.'

She smiled broadly and raised her glass to clink it against his, before they both took a sip of their wine, their eyes remaining connected throughout the process.

'Never doubt it ….'

The rest of the sentence faded from her lips as she realised he was moving closer to her and looking at her in a way that suggested only one thing. Their shared lightness shifted to something deeper in that instant and as he continued to look at her, she saw that his eyes were darkening, turning to that deep smouldering charcoal which signalled his rising passion. He still held his champagne glass, as did she, so he could not take her face in his hands, as he so dearly wished, but he did manage to lightly brush her cheek with his fingertips before he finally caught her lips between his and kissed her gently.

It was, she thought idly, only their third kiss since that morning, and it was like water to a thirsty man. It gave beautiful solace but made her desperate for more, and he was already drawing away, moving from her, and her hand clutched at his sleeve to keep him near. She barely noticed that he removed the glass from her hand until he pulled her close, so close, and there was no obstruction to their proximity. His lips, when they returned mere seconds after they left, were firm and insistent as they tasted her. She opened her mouth to him, gasping as his tongue touched hers (a sensation she would never tire of) and his hands pressed against her back, pulling her nearer, whilst simultaneously supporting her as their shared passions made her tremble and her knees weaken.

They could have continued this display of passion indefinitely, the significance of the day meaning that they both had an unspoken need to relearn every inch of their partner. The physical parts of them not connected to love had other ideas, however, and they drew apart in amusement when her stomach rumbled loudly.

'How unladylike!' she laughed, moving back from him slightly, delighted that his arms continued to hold her. She reached up to play with the curls on his forehead, twisting one around her finger a little, and rose up to press a warm kiss to his cheek.

'Mrs Patmore didn't send me home with anything other than an apple pie, so we'll have to make do with whatever is left over from the larder.'

He squeezed her waist and shook his head at her, before turning her around to face the range at the other end of the kitchen, which she now saw was laden with pans, one of which was gently steaming.

'Do you honestly think I'd ask you to cook tonight?'

She stepped forwards a little and then turned back to him, amazement clear on her face.

'Do you mean _you've_ cooked as well as all the rest?'

He laughed and shook his head again, reaching for his champagne, taking a sip before he answered, silently delighting in her little huff of impatience as she waited for his explanation.

'As nothing is burned, it would suggest not. I've done nothing but prepare some vegetables for Daisy.'

 _'Daisy_ did this? But …. when? I mean, I would have noticed if she'd been absent from the kitchens.'

'I would imagine it was when you were in the linen cupboard sorting out the mess Miss Sybbie and Master George had created.'

Her eyes flashed fire with momentary anger at the waste of time her husband's cunning plan had caused her, but then she remembered the gleeful look the children had shared as she had sunk to her knees to sort out the linen they had strewn about, and laughed a little. 'How ever did they come to be involved?'

Charles breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her anger dissipate and moved to the range, lifting the lid from the pan which sat upon it, and gave a stir to whatever was inside. 'Lady Mary brought them to visit a few weeks ago. She'd come to deliver, er, something to help with my idea for your present. Paper is a ridiculous source of inspiration.'

Elsie laughed, 'I had the same conversation with her ladyship. I hope whatever Lady Mary brought was useful?'

'It was, but that's the only answer you're getting for now. I can be mysterious as well Mrs Carson.'

She looked sceptical but did not press him further. He replaced the lid on the pan, turning to look at her, taking in every inch of her as he continued talking.

'We were discussing my plans and she mentioned Mr Crawley had strewn their room with paper hearts.'

She couldn't help the peal of laughter that rang out, and he raised an eyebrow in query.

'It's a Crawley family trait it seems' she explained.

'I might have guessed. Anyway, Master George was listening as he and Miss Sybbie examined the photographs in the sitting room, and he asked if he could help. He came up with the idea of the lanterns. Miss Sybbie was the one who pointed out the need to keep you more occupied than usual. So, with their help, Daisy was able to escape and prepared our supper.'

Elsie was extremely touched by the lengths to which the entire household had gone in order to ensure their evening was a special one. She cast her eye about the softly lit kitchen once more, taking it all in appreciatively.

'And what are we to have?'

'There's vegetable soup to start, which is ready the moment you wish, and salmon with asparagus and new potatoes to follow. Daisy brought a note from Mrs Patmore which thankfully I didn't open until she'd gone, which said the salmon would do just as well cold if we were, ahem, otherwise engaged and forgot about it.'

'Mrs Patmore seems to think she can take the entire credit for our physical relationship' grumbled Elsie.

'She's not far wrong, is she?' he said as he moved back towards her, placing his hand at the base of her neck, lightly stroking the skin below her ear. 'When I think of how I almost let you go, how I almost missed knowing you in every way …'

She reached for the hand which caressed her skin, the light touch of his fingers causing her heart to quicken, and brought it to her mouth, placing a kiss to the centre of his palm, maintaining eye contact with him throughout.

'But you didn't, Charles, because I wouldn't let you. I'd been so worried by the unknown that I forgot the one thing that was certain – and that was my love for you. I finally realised, just at the moment I could have lost you, that none of it mattered, because I wanted you just as you wanted me.'

He wrapped her in his arms once again and kissed her forehead as he had done countless times before, but each remembered the satisfaction and relief of that evening in his pantry and both sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they had not missed the chance to properly love one another.

They remained entwined until Mrs Carson's stomach once again betrayed her, and laughing, she moved to the table whilst he filled two dishes with soup and served her with great style. They sat, elbow to elbow, talking about nothing and everything, indulging in the occasional touch of a hand as they did so. His knees pressed against hers for much of the time, no table legs getting in their way as they had done in the servant's hall. The salmon, when they got around to eating it, was indeed cold, but neither minded.

The clock in the kitchen chimed eight times as he cleared the dishes and poured her another glass of champagne. He did not retake his seat, but instead moved to one of the cupboards and withdrew a package from within it.

'I think it's time for your gift my love.'

He handed her a rectangular parcel, wrapped in brown paper and secured by a blue ribbon which he'd chosen, unbeknownst to her, because it was the exact colour of her eyes. He hovered slightly nervously as she held the gift, running her hand over it, and then sat as she looked up at him and directed him to his chair with her eyes.

She undid the ribbon and peeled back the paper to reveal a book bound in fine red cloth. Paper, she thought. A book would be the obvious choice. _The Just So Stories_ was embossed in gold on the spine and she gasped in happy surprise.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, smiling at him briefly, before looking back at the book. 'One of my favourites. It's something I love to go back to.'

'I know. You have in fact read it twenty-four times.'

'How on earth do you know that?' she asked, looking totally flabbergasted at his knowledge.

'The item Lady Mary brought me – it was the sign out log from the library. When you were rereading _Persuasion_ the weekend I retired, it gave me an idea, and looking at the log showed me you have in fact borrowed it every year since Lord Grantham purchased a copy in 1902.'

She smoothed her hand over the cover and shook her head slightly at the care he'd taken to choose something so personal. She lifted the cover and found his writing on the flyleaf. His inscription brought a lump to her throat.

'I may be as slow as the tortoise, but I won eventually. Happy first anniversary Elsie. With all my love, which grows every day. Charles.'

She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked up to him, her eyes shining. 'Thank you my love. It's a beautiful gift.'

He smiled, but surprised her by standing and offering her his hand. 'The other part of your present is in the sitting room.'

'There's _more_?' she questioned as she placed her hand in his and stood. The only answer she received was a kiss to her fingers and a meaningful glance as he pulled her towards the other room. She dimly registered the basket with its apple pie which still resided where she'd deposited it hours before.

The sitting room was warmed by the fire which glowed from the embers behind its guard. Charles moved to put a couple of logs on it, to make it blaze again, and she glanced around the room. She was surprised to note that the bookcase was covered by a sheet and moved towards it, before she paused to glance at Charles, still positioned by the fireplace. He nodded and gestured towards the sheet. Barely able to breathe, she tentatively tugged at it, standing back as it pooled about her feet, gasping as she realised that a great transformation had taken place.

The shelves that had been sparsely populated with their meagre collection were now completely filled. Her hand came shakily to rest over her mouth as she fought to keep her emotions in check and her eyes roamed over the shelves as she took in the tittles. A full set of the Bronte's, _Middlemarch_ , _Cranford_ , _The Woman in White_ next to _A Room with A View_. There was the full collection of Jane Austen's works, and she inhaled sharply as she stared at the spine of _Pride and Prejudice_ , which had Peacock feathers embossed between the title and author's name. Not even Lord Grantham had a complete set of the Hugh Thomson illustrated editions, which had first started to appear in 1894. The bounty of this gift was beyond comprehension.

'I'll be back in a moment' he said quietly, not entirely sure if she had heard him, and went through to the kitchen, extinguishing all the candles that were scattered about the room. It was a simple task, using the little candle snuffer, but one which brought him some peace. He'd been anxious that his gift please her, and the evidence before him declared her to be beyond that emotion.

She continued perusing the shelves, spotting a copy of _The Turn of the_ Screw and smiling at the memory of the first time she'd read it, when she discovered it on the library shelves. She'd not been able to sleep for days. She could hardly think clearly as she stood in quiet contemplation of the shelves, and knew that if she tried to thank him now, she would not be able to fully express herself. All her most loved books were there, even the stories she had read the young ladies on their occasional visits to the servant's hall were among the hoard. There was _A Little Princess_ , standing quite strangely next to _Frankenstein_. She reached for the latter and opened it, laughing as she read the inscription. 'Just don't read it aloud when it's dark. Charles.'

'I've inscribed them all' he told her as he returned to the room and saw the book in her hands. He stood to one side of her, taking in the emotions that flitted over her face as she continued to look over the shelves in wonder.

'There's no Dickens' she observed, not bothering to turn, still absorbed in discovering the delights he had given her.

'Of course there isn't'

'But you love Dickens.'

'You don't though, and this is your gift.'

She finally turned to him, her eyes shining with unshed tears as the significance of the gift overwhelmed her. 'The ledger' she said, accurately assessing how he had picked so well.

'Indeed. I went through it from the year you arrived and made a note of anything you'd read more than three times. Then I scoured the second-hand bookshops of Ripon. Mr Branson rang one morning, very excited, having stumbled across the Austen in York, Lady Edith sent _The Age of Innocence_ from London and Lady Grantham suggested _The Railway Children_. She said Lady Sybil would sit enthralled for hours when you read it aloud.'

'She would indeed', she smiled a little sadly at the memory and then moved towards him, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. 'This is amazing and a bit overwhelming. It makes my gift look slight in comparison.'

'I'll be the judge of that. Just so long as you've not strewn the bedroom with paper hearts.'

'No, I'd not be so silly. But I do need to pop upstairs for a moment. Could you pour me some more champagne and take a seat? I'll be right back.'

She climbed the stairs quickly and entered the spare room, reaching under the bed for the box she'd placed there earlier in the week. Extracting the item she sought, she took a moment to gather her thoughts and returned to the sitting room.

He was sitting on the sofa as she had directed, two glasses of champagne twinkling and fizzing on the table by his side. She took a seat next to him, but continued to look at the little package in her hands. His gaze lowered as well, wondering why she was suddenly so shy and obviously anxious about what she was planning to give him. The object was square and bound by a length of green ribbon.

'Elsie, are those …. letters?'

She glanced up at him, grateful that he had recognised the packet so swiftly and nodded carefully.

'They are' she confirmed quietly. 'We always wrote during the season, but these … these are the things I could never say to your face, and never thought to send. But I want you to have them now. It's really all I have to offer.'

She looked up and made sure her eyes connected with his as she presented them to him. 'Happy anniversary Charlie.'

He smiled at the use of the name she only uttered in moments of extreme love, and took the treasured packet from her. The upper envelopes, he noted, were slightly brown and brittle with age, whilst the last in the pile was crisp and white. There was a pencilled note on the top. 'Haxby' it said.

She saw his intake of breath, and where his eyes had moved to, and hurried to explain.

'I thought about transcribing them onto fresh paper, but couldn't trust myself not to edit things, or throw them away in embarrassment. Most of them are undated though, so I wrote on the envelope the situation which brought me to write them.'

He nodded and untied the ribbon slowly, setting it down on the table next to his glass. He rested the pile on his lap and lifted the top one, carefully manoeuvring the single sheet of paper from the envelope. He started to read and then shook his head and looked up at her.

'Would you read them to me?'

'Oh! No … surely ….'

'I can imagine your voice perfectly well, but why bother when I have you right by my side. Please?'

She sighed. Somehow this was worse than just sharing these letters with him, but then he had been so open, given so much of himself, she had to grant his wish. 'Very well', she agreed. 'But you'll forgive me if I don't look at you.'

She reached for her glass, taking a long sip of wine, hoping it would fortify her, or at least take the edge off what she was sure was going to be a tortuous experience. She took the letter from him, and, breathing deeply, she began to read.

 _Dear Mr Carson,_

 _You have made up your mind. You are going to leave Downton to serve at the pleasure of Lady Mary. You are to move to Haxby. I hope I managed to be generous when you told me, but I cannot begin to understand how you could consider working for Sir Richard after all these years at the Abbey. I suppose I should not be too surprised, you always have been devoted to Lady Mary, and her wishes take precedence, no matter that you might be abandoning your friends._

She broke off with a laugh. 'Good heavens. I'd forgotten how bitter I was. I'm not sure this is a good idea Charles!'

'It's the past Elsie. You're showing me the other way. The other life we could have ended up suffering through.' He leaned forward and placed a kiss to her cheek. 'Please continue my love.'

She nodded and looked back down to the paper.

 _I've always know that this would be my last position once I'd become housekeeper. I would be a fool to look elsewhere, and in a world of change, the one thing I thought I could rely on was you. We have forged a strong bond you and I, and I wonder if it will hold when you move. Will it survive the distance, or will it snap, like Mr Rochester suggested the one he and Jane shared would. Except he loved her and that …_

 _Well. That is quite the epiphany to have late at night. I've been turning the thought over for about ten minutes and find it is actually the truth. I love you, and whilst I'd been tempted to give you this tomorrow (I've never been afraid of expressing an opinion) I no longer plan to do so. It would be unfair to tell you. It might be considered blackmail and I'm certain you don't feel the same way. I will not be loved out of a sense of obligation._

 _Your friendship is precious to me, so it will be no chore to live with that alone. Just so long as Haxby does not make you forget me. It_ _will_ _be a hardship to work without you after so many years, but you must go where you think you are needed. Live well Mr Carson._

 _Love_

 _Elsie Hughes_

She finished speaking and willed herself to look up. He was staring at her in such a way that her heart skipped a beat, and then another, as he reached out to cup her cheek.

'Thank heavens Sir Richard turned out to be so devious.' he said, before shuffling a little in his seat so that he was nearer to her, leaning forward to kiss her deeply. 'I love you with every fibre of my soul.' He looked down at the bundle in his lap and picked up the next envelope. 'This says 'Flu'.'

'Oh no, I'm not reading that now. I wept when I wrote it and I'd rather not relieve that tonight.'

'Very well. This one says 'my health'. I'm assuming that _your_ health? Oh.' His eyes widened as he realised what it might contain.

'I might cry when I read that one too, but I think I owe it to you, after shutting you out at the time.'

Knowing it would not be easy for her, and hearing the sigh she gave as she steeled herself, he shifted in his seat once more, leaning back against the sofa. 'Would it help if you didn't have to look at me?'

She glanced at him in surprise and saw he had held his arm out so that she might nestle against his side.

'It would actually.' She bent to remove her shoes and then moved into the offered space, tucking her feet under her as she began to read.

 _Dear Mr Carson,_

 _Tomorrow I am to see Dr Clarkson and find out if things are as bad as I have feared. I have not admitted my ill health to you, although I rather think you have winkled it out of Mrs Patmore. She has been so very kind to me, but I know she thinks I should have told you weeks ago. I cannot do that, because I cannot bear for you to treat me any differently than you have always done. You have been so caring, and I know it was you who told Lady Grantham, but that treatment is special and it hurts me, because all I want is to go on as before. I cannot cope with all this kindness. I've also kept silent because if I told you I might die, I would surely reveal my deeper feelings for you as well. I have managed to live with my love for you for some time. I am used to living with that pain, and I do not seek to alter our friendship._

 _I cannot bear to be anything less than you expect of me, stalwart and always to be relied upon. If I am to die, I will do so without your pity. If I told you of my inner feelings now, you would feel obligated to something about it. I would rather live with your friendship than die with your attempt to return my love._

 _I may be about to die and if I am, I trust in the strength of your friendship to help me meet my end._

 _With love_

 _Elsie Hughes_

 _P.S. I am not dying! I don't have cancer – still I could not tell you myself, having to pretend I was unaware of your concern, and allowed Mrs Patmore to have that honour. But I heard you sing as you went about your duties. You never sing, except in church, and there you were! Almost skipping about your pantry. You sang for me. I've never been happier. Is it possible to allow myself to believe you might actually care in the way I do? I don't know if I dare, but seeing you this way allows me to hope there might be some sort of future. I won't test you right away, let nature take its own course. I've got the time after all._

'You never did test the waters' he murmured, dropping kisses into her hair and wrapping his arm more firmly against her side.

'No, I didn't.'

'Why not? What happened?'

In answer, she reached for the next letter in the collection and brought it up so he could read the pencilled note.

''Lady Sybil'. Oh my love. You know, you are so brave and quiet, I forget you have suffered.'

She heard the way his words caught in his throat and moved away to look at him, gasping as she did so. 'You've been crying!'

He leaned into her hand as she wiped away the traces of his tears. 'Can you blame me? Your voice cracked when you declared yourself well. You're reliving it all for my sake, and the pain is so great. I'm just so thankful I'm here to support you now.'

He leaned forward, his tears forgotten, and peppered her face with light kisses, whilst his hands moved into her hair and expertly found the pins holding it in place. He started removing them, and then all at once she felt the weight of her plait tumble down her back. He drew away and pulled the long, bound, strand over her shoulder and deftly started to unwind it, the practice he had gained over the year coming into full force.

'Charles' she whispered, astonished by his look of concentration. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm making you dishevelled' he said as he finished undoing the braid and placed warm kisses to her neck, his fingers finding a new task as he undid the first few buttons of her blouse, spreading the fabric wide so he could nip at her collarbone.

'I could be a lot more dishevelled if you took me upstairs my love', she said, blushing slightly – self-conscious even now of the strength of her desires.

'Mmmm' he mumbled, even as he kissed her neck, and the sound he made reverberated against her own voice box so that she felt the vibrations deep within herself, even to her very core, and felt that delicious tightening she had grown so very used to when it came to their lovemaking.

'Believe me when I say I want to take you upstairs and make love to, and with, you. My beautiful wife. But I also want to hear the rest of your thoughts. Indulge me?'

'Just this once' she smiled and leaned forward to give him a searing kiss, a promise of things to come.

'But I'm not going to read all of these now. Some can wait for another time. Think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.'

'Mmmm – much like the rest of you', he said, wetting his lips slightly as he undid yet another button of her blouse, revealing the swell of her breasts as they were pushed up by her corset and her heavier than usual breathing.

Her scolding 'Charles!' was rather more drawn out than it might have been, given the fact his lips had decided to worship the skin he had just uncovered. Her hand found its way into his hair, but it took every ounce of will power she had to exert the pressure needed to move him away from her.

He returned to his previous position without complaint and once more wrapped his arm about her, although she noticed as she nestled comfortably against him that his hand did not stay at her waist as before, but rather inched up so that his fingers splayed over her corset, his thumb making frequent sweeps over the flesh he had been lavishing with his kisses. She forced herself to concentrate, but the sensations he provoked within her were delicious. She made a mental note to get him to repeat this slow seduction at another time.

'The next two letters are quite similar, if memory serves. Lady Sybil's death, and Mr Crawley's so soon after impressed upon me how much you were needed at the Abbey, and I basically gave up any thoughts of a future which involved romance. You needed a friend. That I could provide.'

She sifted through the pile of letters and, finding the one she wanted, drew it out and laid it across her palm. He saw that 'Charlie and Alice' was noted on the envelope and simply tilted her head towards him so he could kiss her forehead. She felt the possessive quality of it and reached to pat his knee.

'It's alright. It's the other Charlie this refers to in any case.' She moved her head away slightly, but only so she could read the letter without straining her neck too much.

 _Dear Mr Carson,_

 _Throughout this whole encounter with Mr Grigg, we have been at odds. You did not understand my motives behind attempting to help Mrs Crawley through her grief, and I did not do you the credit of believing you would be willing to forget the past. I was astonished when you arrived at the station (although Mrs Crawley seemed to have expected your appearance). You were so stubborn in your refusal, and then, there you were! I have never been prouder of you than at that moment. I feared you would not welcome my presence on the walk back to the abbey, but you were generous in your silent forgiveness._

 _Tonight you have revealed the reason behind your stubbornness. Alice Neal, who broke your heart, and which injury has been left to fester ever since. You looked at her picture with_ _such_ _fondness. You've never looked at any other woman like that, not even Lady Mary. To know you are capable of such deep feelings is a comfort, even if it gives me even greater cause to doubt that we can share something akin to that. I have an idea of how to help mend your heart further. I only hope it won't break mine a little as I do so._

 _I remain_

 _Elsie Hughes_

He had caught her wry chuckle as she'd spoken of the way he had looked at Alice's picture, and knew she was thinking of the fact he _did_ look at another woman in that way. _She_ had inspired those feelings he had thought buried, and much more besides. He did not mention that the silver frame she had given him now lay in a box somewhere about the house, in amongst a pile of papers he had gathered from his desk upon retirement. That was a story for another time.

'I want you to know', he said, teasing the paper from her fingers and deftly putting it back in the envelope, 'I have never once compared you to her. There would be little point. You've made me happier than I ever would have believed possible. Even when I thought my worst fears had come to pass, and I was about to let you out of our engagement, I never stopped to think 'here we go again'. The only thing that crossed my mind was that I loved you too much to allow you to be miserable. I'm just thankful I have had the chance to love you properly.'

She did not trust herself to speak, could not even bring herself to look at him, and instead brushed an imagined speck of fluff from her skirt. Alice was the occasional spectre which invaded her mind. She never doubted that he loved her, but at times of difficulty she wondered if she could live up to that earlier romance. To know his feelings on the matter was wonderful.

'Thank you', she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss, before laying it over her heart, where his fingers instantly started stroking her skin. He heard the depth of feeling in those two short words and felt the flutter of her heartbeat, and knew they understood each other.

She fanned the last four envelopes out in her hand and pointed to the top one, labelled 'The Season'. She shook her head as she laughed and explained. 'The season Lady Rose came out. I wrote such a pitiful goodbye and then wept for the rest of the night. I can't think what possessed me. We'd gone through countless separations. It was as if the revelations over Alice showed me all I had missed.' She set the letter down with the others she had read or explained.

'And then 'The Beach' showed you all the possibilities?' he asked, running a finger over one of the three envelopes she still held.

'Something like that.'

'But still you thought I'd never ask you to marry me?'

She moved away from him slightly, swinging her feet back to the floor and turned to him, reaching over to smooth his tie between her fingers – an act he found highly reminiscent of other things, which caused him to become breathless in a matter of moments. She heard the change and allowed herself a little smile, even as she answered him in a serious tone.

'If things at the Abbey had been different, perhaps I might have allowed myself to hope, but events surrounding Anna and Mr Bates were so awful, and I had to keep so much from you. I couldn't allow myself to hope, although when the suggestion of the house came along, I thought we might have a different future to the one I had resigned myself to.'

Her fingers had been smoothing along his tie as she spoke, and now they curled about the knot near his neck. She laid the last two envelopes in her lap and reached up to unfurl the fabric, drawing it out slowly from his collar. She looked up at him as she performed this last action, and saw that his lips were parted as he tried to regulate his breathing.

'Tit for tat my love.'

Discarding the tie next to the length of ribbon that had bond her letters, she reached up to place her hands on either side of his face. They barely spanned his cheeks, as little as they were compared to his large head, but even so, he felt the protection afforded by them, and the desire she felt as she drew his face towards her and kissed him deeply.

She was too far away. He tried to pull her closer, but even as he wrapped his arms about her, he knew it wouldn't be enough. He tugged again, and felt her legs start to rise up over his. He lowered his knees slightly, and there they were, looped over his just as he wished. She seemed to understand his desires, even though he'd not said anything to her, and so when he tugged her side again, she rose up off the sofa a little and moved, almost without effort, into his lap.

'Hello' she said, placing a kiss to his jaw.

He exhaled slowly and held her tightly. 'Read to me about 'Becky' and then we'll go upstairs.'

'There's one more after that' she said, kissing his jaw again and undoing a button on his shirt.

'You can read that to me in bed', he said, his fingers returning to making further light sweeps over the top of her breasts.

'Alright' she gasped, undoing another button and placing a kiss to the skin she uncovered, before working her hand underneath the fabric and placing it over his heart, gratified and touched to feel the beat hammering beneath her fingertips.

 _Dear Charles_

She heard his gasp of surprise and chuckled. 'I know – I wrote your name quite without thinking and could not bring myself to cross it out. It was a small comfort to my broken heart.'

He bent to place a kiss over the heart in question and nipped a little at her skin as well, but did not make any kind of verbal response, and so, after a moment's pause to make sure her voice did not falter, she began again.

 _Dear Charles,_

 _I thought to lose you to another house some years ago, and thought my pain could not be surpassed, but I know better now. This is so much worse than Haxby, because when you leave to go to this other house, you will have retired – something I never thought to see – and there will be no place for me in your new life._

 _I said I did not know why I'd allowed myself to string you along, and once again I do you a disservice by not speaking the whole truth. I so wanted to believe that this new partnership might grow to something more, given time, that I allowed myself to believe it was possible, that I was free to hope for things for myself alone. I have never regarded my sister as a burden, her mental state is not her fault, and I have always provided for her out of love. But right at this moment, I find I resent her immensely, and that only adds to my sorrows._

 _You were generous enough to apologise for bullying me, something you_ _never_ _did, although your enthusiasm for the project might sometimes have swayed your natural calm demeanour. You looked so crushed when I told you, that I felt a flicker of hope rekindle, but no – I must put that right out of my mind, for I know now, better than I ever did before, that we are not destined to be._

 _When you buy that house, as I know you will, I hope you make a success of it, and that on the odd occasion there will be room for a weary housekeeper to rest for a while._

 _Live well, Mr Carson. You've earned it._

 _Mrs Elsie Hughes_

She fell silent and leaned her head into his shoulder, whilst the hand within his shirt moved upwards to his other shoulder as she clung to him, needing to feel his firm bulk as she relived the last moment she thought him lost to her. They had spoken about Becky after his proposal, when she'd remained firm about her wish to fund her sister's care alone, despite what their marriage vows might say, and she had written to her to share the happy news. But he still had yet to meet her, their work not allowing them that freedom, and the one time it might have been possible, Becky had succumbed to a virulent flu, and the authorities in charge had written to say it was better they didn't come.

They sat in silence as they each remembered these things and comforted themselves with the nearness of the other. The fire had died to its last embers, and the soft glow of the lamps cast shadows about the room, making it seem smaller than it really was. All that really existed in that moment were the two of them.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the feel of his fingers caressing her foot and lightly running up her calf, before they inched up over her knee and started trailing a path across her outer thigh. She nudged his face with her nose slightly and caressed the shoulder she still gripped under his shirt.

'Just what does your hand think it's doing?'

'It's taking off your stocking' he replied, unsnapping one of the fasteners, before lightly caressing the top of her thigh. He repeated the procedure which made her inhale sharply as his fingers found new skin to caress. He swept his fingertips back and forth slowly, until it was almost too much to bear, and still he had made no further progress with the removal of her stocking.

'So help me, Charles, if you do that once more, I'll be forced to ….'

Her threat was cut off mid way as he made her gasp, repeating the action with more firmness, his fingers finding the inside of her thigh this time.

'You'll be forced to what?' he asked, sounding altogether too smug.

'I'll be forced to take them off myself' she declared, shuffling from his lap and standing up. He looked slightly disappointed as she did so, but then she placed a foot on the sofa and, gathering her skirt to one side, expertly undid the rest of the fasteners before rolling the fabric down her leg and pulling it off her foot.

She did not miss the intake of his breath and when she swapped the foot on the sofa for the other, made sure she lifted her skirt slightly higher than was strictly necessary as she repeated her actions with the other stocking.

His hand came to wrap around her ankle as she finished and her gaze connected with his. The desire he felt was writ large in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, and the parting of his lips. She slowly lowered her leg and held out her hand to him, inviting him to stand. He did not delay and she was in his arms in a matter of moments, his lips at her ear as he kissed and nibbled the sensitive flesh.

She heard his quiet whisper of 'Bed' and answered by reaching down for the last letter before grasping his hand and leading him from the room.

In the hallway they were greeted by the apple pie she had abandoned. She paused, regretting the waste for a moment, but he just laughed, running his hand down the full length of her tumbled hair and lowly said 'we can have it for breakfast, like in The Railway Children.'

'Hmmm – I daresay' she replied, in a passable Yorkshire accent, and they continued on their way to their bedroom.

He shrugged off his jacket as he entered and hung it over the chair of her dressing table, watching her move about the room, seemingly lost in thought as she twirled the letter in her hands. When she absentmindedly moved to unbutton her blouse, however, he stepped forward to place his hands on hers and shook his head.

'Let me, and whilst I do so, you can read me the letter. What did you label this one?'

'First and only', she said, drawing the paper out of the envelope. She felt, rather than saw, him move closer towards her and sighed deeply as his lips came to rest on her collarbone whilst his fingers tugged her blouse from her skirt.

 _My darling Charles_

She had barely got the words out before his lips were on hers, but it was a brief caress, really just an answer to the development of the opening of her letters, and he moved back so that he could concentrate on unbuttoning the rest of her blouse.

 _I hardly know how I shall sleep tonight, now that I am acquainted with how your lips feel on mine, how good it is to rest in your arms. All my worries and prevarications were swept to one side the instant I realised the danger I was in, that you might act the noble gentleman and release me. When I think of all the barriers that have been in our way, I never imagined that_ _I_ _would be the one to very nearly destroy our chance._

She felt her blouse slowly being pulled from her arms as she read these words, pausing mid sentence at one point to switch the letter between her hands so he could remove the garment completely. His fingers brushed up her body and rested on her shoulders as he moved to kiss the skin he had uncovered.

He undid his own shirt and she paused her recitation completely so that she could place kisses of her own to his chest.

She continued to read, making an extreme effort to keep her voice steady as she tried to regulate her breathing – no easy feat, given the way he was touching her, and the fact he had unbuttoned her skirt, allowing it to pool at her feet, and was now slowly unfastening her corset.

 _The way you looked at me Charles! You've_ _never_ _looked at me like that before, or perhaps you have and I've been too preoccupied with concealing my love to pay attention. I could have lost you, but God was kind and we are going to be actually married in April._

 _That kiss we shared told me all I need to know. I wonder if you heard that sound I made as our lips touched? I couldn't help myself. I was unaware until that moment that the mere touch of two sets of lips could inspire such feelings!'_

She had stumbled over some of this as his hands removed the corset and as she revealed to him how that first kiss between them had made her feel, the garment fell away, and suddenly his mouth was on her, claiming one of her nipples through the shift she still wore, whilst his hands pressed into her back and brought her closer to him.

'Oh Charles!' she gasped, even as her body lost the ability to hold itself upright and desire shot through her. Her knees buckled and she surely would have collapsed if he had not had a firm grip on her.

He half lifted, half guided her backwards until she felt the sturdy bed behind her, and she sat heavily, watching as he moved away slightly to dispense with his trousers. She pulled the shift over her head in one fluid movement and sat, clad only in her knickers, gazing up at him through half closed eyes, both of them breathing erratically.

He reached out to stroke her cheek before allowing his fingers to run down the column of her neck, and then his hand cradled the weight of her breast, whilst his thumb and forefinger swept over her nipple, rolling and pinching ever so slightly. Her eyes closed fully in delight at the sensations he inspired and her head rolled back so that her throat was tipped to the ceiling, an invitation he could not ignore.

He stepped between her legs, pushing them apart a little to accommodate him, and bent forward to lavish kisses to her neck, thoroughly aroused by the deep groans she made.

'There's still a postscript' she whispered, taking the decision to skip the rest of what she had written about that night. 'But it doesn't matter.'

'It does' he rumbled against her neck and then drew back. The loss of contact caused her to open her eyes and he was able to indicate she should move back against the pillows of their bed. He followed her as she did so, tugging at her underwear so that she was fully naked by the time she reached the head of the bed, his own final item of clothing being discarded at the same time.

He lay down on his side next to her, his eyes never leaving hers, whilst his hand ran, feather light over her body. Reluctant to break eye contact she lingered, but finally brought the paper up to read.

 _We have been married a little over fourteen hours and I am, at long last your wife in every respect. You have fallen into a deep sleep, but as much as I need it, I cannot. I can only stare at the sleeping (and snoring!) form of my husband for so long, so rather than disturb, I write this by the light of the moon._

 _Any residual fears over what tonight would entail have been dispelled completely. You promised to worship me, and you did, beyond all my expectations. You've told me I'm beautiful, but I only truly believed you when you looked at me tonight. I never thought to share this deep connection, especially not at my age. I love you with so much of my soul Charles, there is none left to protest it. I will love you until I die._

She looked up from the paper and found his face inches from hers. His hands had left their exploration of her body and now came to cup her face as she blinked tears of happiness away.

'I will, you know' she reaffirmed, leaning into his hand.

'As will I, but let's not die for another thirty years.'

She laughed shakily as his hand moved down to her neck. 'You'll never let me forget that, will you?'

'Probably not. And you're not old within your soul my darling. You could never be old to me.'

His hand left her neck and reached for the paper she still held, turning to place it on his bedside table before he returned to her, moving to kiss her deeply, before he pulled her down the bed a little, so that she lay directly beneath him.

They kissed, slowly, languidly, but with all the passion that had been kindled from the start of their evening together.

His hands produced a trail of fire as they skimmed her most sensitive parts and when he, at long last, entered her, they both exhaled in delighted anticipation as the final movement in their dance of love and passion was begun.

As he slipped deeper and deeper inside of her, fitting so wonderfully in that secret part, his breath caught as he briefly thought of all the points she had shared, when they had so nearly come together, only to be prevented. It made their lovemaking that much more precious.

He began to thrust quicker, and she matched his rhythm perfectly. Their eyes connected as they moved together, communicating the powerful emotions they felt and their journey to this moment which had been revisited that night. Both of them offered up prayers of thanks that they should have had the chance to share this love.

As they reach the heights of climax and shattered against each other in heady delight, the sounds of their lovemaking filling the room, they knew that they would continue to share this love and passion for many years.

 **A/N:**

 **For those of you who want to know, the traditional gifts to give at each wedding anniversary are as follows: 1 = paper, 2 = cotton, 3 = leather, 4 = flowers/fruit, 5 = wood, 6 = sugar, 7 = wool, 8 = bronze, 9 = copper, 10 = tin, 11 = steel, 12 = silk or linen, 13 = lace, 14 = ivory, 15 = crystal, 20 = china, 25 = silver, 30 = pearl. Modern gifts are somewhat different (for instance, 4** **th** **now is electrical appliances … I mean come on! Also modern 30** **th** **appears to be diamond, I suppose because someone thinks most modern marriages won't get to 60 years, which is a tad depressing).**

 **I should probably state here and now that I'm not going to be doing a chapter for all of them. I have in my mind probably about four more chapters. I highly doubt any of them will be as long as this. They probably won't be M rated either (and the fact that I have now finally written a full love scene is as much a surprise to me as you).**

 **The books …. The ones mentioned aren't the only things given. Some might pop up later. The Thomson Austen are incredibly beautiful and I've posted them on my tumblr.**

 **I have used (or rather slightly altered quotes) from Hemingway ('You are so Brave and quiet') which comes from A Farewell to Arms, published 1929, so just outside of the timeline, and Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing (I love you with so much of my heart). I have also used a line from a song which is used in one of my all time favourite fan vids, by T3andcrumpets (ScintillatingTart on here) – 'There's no age upon your soul' is from Sophie Ellis Bextor's Young Blood, and I'll reblog the video on my tumblr. The idea of his eyes being compared to smouldering charcoal comes from Deedee, through a conversation over my valentines fic.**

 **Another vote of thanks to Dibdab who suggested the point to put out the candles, when I realised I'd not done it, and was worrying that the house would burn down as they slept, although she also gave me a wonderful visual of Charles pulling on his dressing gown after the glow of their passion dims, and going downstairs to secure the house. The lanterns blew out in the wind the minute she went inside (ha).**

 **This is a real labour of love for me, a union of so many things, so many strands, so I hope it touches you in some way. Chapter two will follow soon. A review or two would set me up forever**


	2. Leather (1928)

**A/N: Thank you all for the kind comments on the first chapter. I really appreciate them, especially given the length of the chapter. Part of this comes from an anon prompt who requested a new understanding between Elsie and Lady Mary. This might not be quite what they imagined, and I had intended to do a whole piece based around it, but it seemed to fit really well here. My thanks to CSoTA for her beta work.**

 **CH 2: Year 3: Leather (1928)**

Life for the Carsons carried on in the pattern they had set in the beginning of 1926. Almost three years of marriage had not dulled the bloom of their love, and they both looked forward to the future and what it would bring. Elsie got up every morning to go to the Abbey, whilst Charles spent his days quite productively.

He was currently engaged in researching the history of the Crawleys after the Marchioness of Hexham (as Charles would still insist on calling her, even after he was invited to continue addressing her as Lady Edith) had recalled the almost farcical state of the family's knowledge at the open house. He was in the Abbey's library once a week.

Life continued very much as it had done before, or rather, it didn't – at least not for everyone.

The Dowager, having seen her family grow to find love and happiness, and the hospital survive under the leadership of Cora, quietly passed away one summer's day in 1927, of nothing very much in particularly, entirely without fuss, and only Lady Merton in attendance. The sorrow felt by both the upstairs and downstairs residents of the Abbey was great indeed, and her vibrant wit was missed by everyone who had had to suffer her acerbic point of view.

Becky Hughes also left the world without Charles Carson ever having been able to meet her, although they had exchanged letters and struck up a warm friendship in that way. She had reminded him in a way of a young Lady Sybil, always passionate about whatever was on her mind, which shone through the excited missives she penned.

It had all happened very quickly, with a phone call to the Abbey to say that Becky had contracted pneumonia and was not likely to see out the week. Elsie had rushed to her beside and on 19th December 1927, Becky Hughes, aged sixty-two and three quarters died. Elsie arranged the funeral and hurried home, arriving exhausted and very sad halfway through Christmas Eve.

Christmas itself was a muted affair and, whilst the weather was mild, the approach to the New Year was decidedly frosty within the Carson's cottage, for they'd had had their first proper fight. After almost three years of marriage and decades of working together, they had never had more than a few testy words or a couple of days when they spoke only when they had to. This so far outstripped their previous disagreements that Charles wondered if they could ever find their way back to that other time.

It began, as these things do, in quite an innocuous way.

CECECECE

 _Boxing Day 1927_

 _The fire roared brilliantly as Elsie sat on the sofa quietly reading_ The Railway Children _. She had needed something simple to remind her of her sister, although she'd never had the opportunity to read it to Becky. Charles was doing the crossword in The Times and a quiet, companionable peace filled the room as the clock ticked and the fire crackled._

 _'There's one good thing to come out of all of this' said Charles, his voice breaking the hush, his eyes still on the crossword._

 _'Hmmm – what's that?' she asked, as she turned a page._

 _'You can retire now.'_

 _She slowly lowered her book and stared at him, still absorbed in his crossword and apparently unaware he had said anything remarkable._

 _'Excuse me?'_

 _'Well', he looked at her over the top of his paper and smiled benevolently, 'Now that Becky is dead, you don't really have any other reason to carry on working.'_

 _She tried, God help her she tried, to take a deep breath and dismiss the hurt his words caused as little consequence, but it was no use; the moment's pause did nothing to assuage her burgeoning anger._

 _'I can't believe you said that.'_

 _Her voice was quiet, but there was an edge to the words as the anger grew within her. She stared at the book on the sofa beside her, and then brought her eyes up to meet his. He was smiling at her in confusion, his brow wrinkled slightly._

 _'Well, now would be an excellent time, don't you agree?'_

 _She took another breath and glared at him. 'No. I don't agree, and I'm baffled why you think now would be a good time to talk about it, when it's not even been a week since my sister died.'_

 _He looked contrite, hastening to make amends as he leaned forward in his chair. 'That was insensitive, I apologise. I only thought ….'_

 _'That's just the problem', she interrupted, snapping at him. 'You didn't think, you just assumed that my sole reason for working was to provide for Becky. I happen to_ _like_ _my role. I've worked extremely hard to gain a position of respect and trust. I've come further than I ever thought possible, and I won't give that up just because someone_ _else_ _thinks I should!'_

 _Her voice had been rising as she spoke and her accent thickened as she stared him down, so that by the time she'd finished, she looked every inch the Scottish dragon her maids had whispered her to be._

 _He sat back abruptly in the face of her anger and looped his fingers together to stop them clenching on the armrests of his chair. 'I see. I suppose it's too much to suggest we spend more time together.'_

 _'At this moment in time Charles, yes. It is.' She stood and looked towards the doorway, completely missing the utter devastation which crossed his face before the professional impassive mask was hoisted back. 'I'm going to bed' she declared and stalked off without waiting to see if he followed._

 _He did not, but remained in his chair, perplexed at the scene which had just unfolded, unable to see how he might fix it._

 _They had never gone to bed separately since they married, not even when the Abbey kept her late, and she found it strange to be moving about their bedroom alone. Getting into bed, she heard him on the stairs, and turned onto her side, away from where he would like. She did not feign sleep, that would have been ridiculous, but she did not speak as he entered and started divesting himself of his clothes._

 _Eventually the bed dipped as he moved beneath the covers and switched off the light. In the darkness they lay, not speaking, not touching, but united all the same._

 _'I'm sorry.' He made no attempt to lower his voice, so it cut through the strained quiet of the room. 'I didn't mean to upset you, nor make light of your achievements. I just …' He trailed off, not able to communicate precisely what was in his heart for fear he expose too much of his vulnerability._

 _'I know', she answered, tossing the words over her shoulder, not willing to move back to her usual position in his arms, 'But I'm not ready for that step, and I cannot tell you when I might be.'_

CECECECE

They had reconciled (although they did not really discuss the cause of their argument) in time to celebrate New Year with their friends. Lady Merton (or Isobel, as she insisted on being called by everyone, including Charles) threw a jubilant party at Crawley House at which everyone expected her husband to be awkward and stiff, but Dickie surprised the entire company by giving a rousing rendition of _Berlington Bertie from Bow_ , which had Mr and Mrs Mason (married in October 1926) roaring with laughter, and even Cora and Robert joined in the final chorus. Isobel had caught Elsie's eye at one point during the evening and inclined her head to where Charles and Dickie were sat in one corner discussing the merits of various vaudeville music, and both women silently acknowledged the support of the other in accepting the love which they had been blessed with.

It felt like the crossing of a divide. Mrs Mason had handed in her notice at Christmas and would be fully retiring to Yew Tree Farm at the end of March, so she felt quite (although not entirely) comfortable mixing with the upstairs folk now, whilst Charles was making use of everyone's knowledge for the book he was creating. The older generation was moving on and allowing the former structures to fall away. Everyone except Elsie.

She could not exactly explain her stubborn determination to remain in post. Yes, she valued her independence and the position she had obtained entirely through her own merit, but there was another factor which kept her firmly at her desk: money.

She knew it hardly mattered, that he had enough for both of them, and if she'd ever voiced the worry, he would have reminded her of the promise made in his wedding vows. But such a problem was not so easily solved in her own mind. She had spent a lifetime grafting for every extra ha'penny, had grown used to sending the majority of her earnings elsewhere, and now that she had the full bounty for herself, she felt she owed it to him – who had so wonderfully bought a house for her and then seen their plans for it fall through – to bring even just a little to their joint savings. That meant working longer.

She did not talk to him about it. The subject of her retirement remained undiscussed, although it was everyday implied by the sigh he gave as she rose early, or the tightness of his embrace when she returned home. She felt the bond between them start to strain but could not bring herself to do the one thing that might ease the pressure.

The snows of January made way for the frost and ice of February, before March blew in on a gale that seemed to last the entire month. Through all this, she trudged up the path to the Abbey and back, never once complaining to him, but all the while her heart asked why she should continue this way.

The second of April dawned beautifully bright, the first really sunny day they had had for what seemed like an age. She had taken the day off, quite spontaneously, reasoning to herself that the majority of her tasks could wait a day to be completed, whilst the rest she delegated to Miss Baxter – who, having intended spending her free hours that day discussing with Mr Brock the flowers she wanted for her wedding to Mr Molesley, did not look all that pleased, but agreed when she was promised the following day in its entirety in recompense.

Charles had been delighted when she told him, and they had risen leisurely, indulging in a languid session of lovemaking, which, Elsie realised with a jolt of shock (and something akin to guilt) was only the fourth time they had engaged in such activities that year. They then spent the rest of the morning chatting about the discoveries Charles had made about the history of the house and his plan for the book which would hopefully be completed by the end of the year.

After lunch, however, the atmosphere had grown sour. She had noticed a rent along the seam of her skirt and had gone upstairs to change, bring the damaged garment into the sitting room to mend. He had wondered aloud, when he found her at her task, why she just didn't buy a new skirt when this one was clearly on its way out.

'Not everyone can buy clothes on a whim like the Crawleys, Charles!' she had told him, affably enough. 'Some of us have to make things last.'

'But we can afford it surely?' he had pressed. 'It's not as if we are spending a great deal, and you've no need to deny yourself anymore.'

He had unwittingly hit on the reason behind her remaining at the Abbey and she was suddenly furious that he should have found her out, even if he didn't actually realise it. She said nothing, just carried on stitching the seam and he had gone elsewhere, muttering what sounded suspiciously like 'I don't know why I bother' as he exited the room.

The weight of everything they had left unsaid started to settle on the house. The quiet upbraided her and she thought she might scream. She left the house, merely calling 'I'm going for a walk' into the silence and set off, at quite a pace, towards the Abbey. She strode around the grounds, her thoughts whirling, hardly knowing which way she turned, until she found herself at the crest of the slope which led to the lake. She wished she had something like Mr Bates's limp corrector to hurl into its depths and sighed deeply in frustration.

'Oh dear!' came a cool female voice behind her. 'That sounds as if you've the weight of the world upon you.'

Turning in dismay at having been overheard, she found Lady Mary standing near her, clasping the hand of her small daughter.

'Charlotte was refusing to take her rest, so I thought I'd help Nanny and take her on a walk to tire her.'

Elsie smiled down at the child, but turned away, not really wanting to communicate with anyone, least of all someone who recalled her husband so swiftly to mind.

'I thought you had the day off, Mrs Hughes? Are the grounds so delightful that they are more tempting than time with Mr Carson?'

'I merely felt like a breath of air Milady,' she answered, civilly enough, but in a way she hoped might indicate her wish to be left alone.

'Of course.' Lady Mary looked back towards the house for a moment, as if she might actually have taken the hint, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she turned back, remarking as she did so, 'I have to confess to some surprise, Mrs Hughes. Whilst one could hardly expect you to retire the moment Mr Carson did, I might have thought you would have done so by now.'

'For once, I wish people would do me the favour of knowing my mind on that subject.' The reply had been immediate and edged with irritation. As soon as she finished she heard the way it sounded and turned, horrified, to her employer. 'I beg your pardon Milady, that was very rude of me.'

Lady Mary did indeed look quite taken aback, but she waved aside the apology, gazing keenly at the other woman. 'I quite understand. But if we're being direct, you will forgive a blunt question. Have you and Mr Carson argued?'

Elsie sighed. She belonged to a generation to whom the idea of talking about marital disharmony was anathema. Certainly, her own mother would never have thought of discussing her husband in this way. The early bumps of marriage had been discussed with Mrs Patmore, of course, but that felt natural, especially given the help the woman had provided in other areas. She had no wish to be disloyal to Charles and most of it was not his fault anyway, but perhaps it might help to discuss the various issues her frazzled mind contemplated.

'Not as such, Milady.'

'But you disagree on the subject of when you might retire?'

Lady Mary scooped up her daughter, who had begun to tug at her skirt, and moved towards the bench under the tree nearby, Elsie following in her wake. Reaching the bench, she sat, Charlotte on her lap playing with the beads about her mother's neck, and indicated that Elsie should do so too.

'I think he wishes for me to retire, or have done so already, although we've not properly spoken about it since the New Year. Heaven knows, I miss his company when I'm at the Abbey, but …'

'But you're a woman who had achieved a position of great responsibility and power in a world of men, and that's hard to give up,' finished Lady Mary, sending a shrewd glance across to her companion and smiling a little as the shock at being so easily understood flashed across Elsie's face. 'We've both had to work hard to be taken seriously in our roles. I understand your reluctance to give that up better than you might think Mrs Hughes.'

Elsie nodded in acknowledgment of this, but sighed again, looking down at her hands. 'It isn't just that Milady. When I married Mr Carson, the plan was to turn the house he had bought into a bed and breakfast and run that when we retired. Although, now I come to think of it, I don't know when he was planning to start the venture. If his illness hadn't forced him to leave, he would have continued to serve the Abbey well into his seventies.'

'I'm sure Mr Carson would have run a fine establishment whatever his age', declared Lady Mary, a touch defensively, which caused Elsie to smile despite the initial irritation. Her husband and his favourite were certainly two of a kind when it came to defending what other people might regard as their flaws.

Lady Mary seemed to sense that she had rather rushed to defend a slight where none was meant and hurried on with another question. 'So, do you still plan to run the venture? I'm sure Mr Carson's illness wouldn't make it all that difficult.'

'No, it wouldn't. But he seems to have gone off the idea ever since Mrs Patmore had her brush with the law.'

Lady Mary attempted to look serious as she murmured 'yes of course' but she could not stop her lips from twitching and a side long glance at her companion showed that Mrs Hughes was also breaking into a smile. A chuckle escaped her, and it broke the dam of restraint, and before long the two women were laughing together at the memory, startling Charlotte as they did so, who wriggled off her mother's lap and moved to stare at the peaceful, and quiet, flowers.

'Oh dear,' breathed Elsie, getting control of herself. 'I shouldn't laugh, Mrs Patmore would be mortified.'

Lady Mary struggled to compose herself and looked off into the distance for a few moments, her attention being brought back suddenly as Elsie began to speak again.

'It was a comfort to know we might have an extra income when working here was no longer possible, particularly for me. I have had an … obligation to … well, I've been responsible for …'

'I know about your sister, Mrs Hughes,' Lady Mary said quietly. She felt the housekeeper stiffen by her side and turned to her. 'Don't worry, Mr Carson did not divulge the information. I've become responsible for the care of Downton, and I know as much as anyone about the farms and landscape, but when Papa had his dreadful scare, Mama decided that I should know everything about those within the house too.' She paused and lifted a hand, hesitating – a characteristic most unlike her – before she reached out and lightly touched the two hands Elsie had clasped together. 'May I say how very sorry I am for your loss?'

Elsie looked up and smiled a little sadly as she saw the painful understanding in Lady Mary's eyes. 'Thank you Milady. You will understand then my desire to keep working a little longer.'

'I understand it, but I don't think it entirely necessary. You know we will continue to provide for you in retirement, besides which, I expect that house would fetch a good sum should you wish to sell it.'

'That's true enough' mused Elsie, looking over to Charlotte who sat, good as gold, plucking daisies from the grass. 'Although it doesn't do much to soothe my pride.'

'You know, you and Mr Carson remind me of Mr Talbot and myself to some degree.'

Elsie cocked her head to one side, intrigued at this strange comparison. 'How so Milady?'

'There is an imbalance in our financial situations too. We both struggled to overcome our worries, but we did so because we loved each other. Mr Carson loves you, which is the most important thing.'

'He does, it is, and I love him too, Milady.' Elsie could not repress the smile which graced her face at that moment, but she soon grew sombre again as she continued. 'But that doesn't stop me feeling inadequate.'

'Inadequate? Mrs Hughes, that is ….' Lady Mary paused, trying to think of a way to show the dispirited woman before her how very far from the truth this was. A thought came to her.

'Do you know, when I married Mr Crawley, I came downstairs on my wedding day to find both Papa and Mr Carson waiting for me. I asked Carson if he thought I'd do, even though Papa was standing right next to him, looking at me as if I'd sprouted angel wings. I'll never forget the look on his face as he replied. 'Very nicely Milady,' he said.' Lady Mary paused to allow herself a little smile of remembrance before she continued. 'The point is, that smile – I'd never seen it before and I never thought to again. But I did and it wasn't directed at me. You'll forgive me, I'm sure, when I tell you that I only watched you walk down the aisle on your wedding day for a moment or two. I turned to look at Mr Carson, and there was that smile again – one of absolute happiness, and awe, wonder, pride, and a thousand other things. He loves you, Mrs Carson, and it is clear that you are so very far from inadequate in his eyes. You could be a beggar or the Queen of Sheba and it wouldn't alter his feelings one bit.'

The use of her married name had not escaped Elsie's attention as she listened to Lady Mary and as she looked out over the undulating landscape of Downton's parklands, she felt as if she saw the way clearly for the first time in months. All the worry and the pride were swept away by the single truth of his love, as it had been three years ago, and now, just as before, there was only one option that made any sense. How to tell him though? After the past few months he deserved more than a casual reference in conversation. She had yet to buy him an anniversary present, so, perhaps …. The possibility of an idea alighted in her mind.

'Milady, I wonder if I might have some time to go to York tomorrow? I've an idea for Mr Carson's anniversary gift which I think I'll only be able to get there.'

Lady Mary caught the gleam in Elsie's eye and smiled appreciatively as she stood, Elsie following suit. 'Of course. You know, I've only just really realised how many of us at Downton share 1925 as the year we married. A lucky year indeed, although I should think Miss Baxter regards 1928 in the same way.'

'Oh bother – Miss Baxter!'

'What's wrong?'

'I promised Miss Baxter she might have tomorrow off as I rather forced her to push aside her wedding preparations today.'

'If your trip to York is to do with what I hope it is, I'm sure Miss Baxter will understand. I'll talk to her, and I'm sure Anna will be willing to lend a hand. Should I tell Mama to expect you in a couple of days?'

'No', Elsie said and turned to look towards the Abbey, 'I'll see her now.'

'You don't do anything by half measures when your mind is made up!'

'I certainly don't Milady' laughed Elsie, before her humour quietened as she noted that Charlotte had finally succumbed to tiredness and was sleeping by the flowers, a daisy clutched firmly in her hand. Lady Mary bent to pick up her daughter and the two women turned to walk back to the house.

'I should thank you Milady. Your counsel has been much appreciated and of great help.'

'It was my pleasure, and I'm glad I could be of assistance. It is important that you are happy.'

'Because my happiness is so closely tied to Mr Carson's?' asked Elsie shrewdly, although her smile showed that she did not resent that this should be the case.

'Partly,' acquiesced Lady Mary, 'But mainly because I think you deserve to be happy Mrs Carson.'

Without a further farewell, she swept off up the lawn, her daughter in her arms, leaving the soon to be former housekeeper to stare after her, astonished, but rather pleased, that it should have been the blessed Lady Mary who had solved her problem after a lifetime of throwing them in her way.

Ten days later, Elsie was practically bursting with the secret she was holding in her heart, and she had to make a supreme effort to keep silent until the time she had deemed appropriate.

Their anniversary being on a Thursday, she was expected at the Abbey, and he did not even grumble as she left for the day, which caused her a momentary pang of guilt. She was not importuned by children in the linen cupboard, the house looked as it always did when she returned to it, and their dinner had been a casual thing, much quieter than she had expected. He had made no particular effort, and the knowledge pained her, although she tried not to let it show. They retired to the sitting room with a glass of sherry and sat on the sofa, whereupon he immediately picked up a package he had tucked behind a cushion, handing it to her with a soft 'Happy Anniversary'.

She unwrapped the brown paper and found a pair of burgundy leather gloves, lined with sheepskin.

'It's been so cold this year, and I know your old gloves are a bit thin. I thought these would be useful for your walks to and from the abbey.'

She couldn't help the laughter which bubbled up from within her and burst forth from her lips at this practical, and now rather redundant, gift. She saw the hurt in his eyes and hurried to present him with her own gift. 'I'm sorry Charlie – they really are lovely. Open your present and then you might understand my mirth.'

He pulled the paper off the curiously long and flat package and revealed … a belt. Well, he did _need_ a belt or two, having adopted the new lower waisted trouser fashions the year he retired, meaning he could dispense with the fuss of braces, and leather did not allow much for the imagination, but he could not help feeling a little disappointed in such a generic gift. She saw it in his face, of course she did, and had been prepared to guide him to his real surprise, so there was only love and gentleness in her voice as she placed a hand on his knee and softly said 'Look at it a bit closer, Charlie.'

He did as he was bid and slowly realised that there was a pattern in the leather. Not across all of it, but an inch or two from the buckle and belt loop (which were beautifully decorated with flowers) was an intricate design he thought he recognised. He looked more closely, tilting the leather and then it suddenly came to him. He had seen that design for over twenty five years.

'Elsie, is this your chatelaine? Are you …. Have you ….?'

'Yes, I'm retiring,' she answered, smiling broadly at him. She expected that he would do the same and was therefore completely unprepared to watch his face crumple and tears spring into his eyes.

'Oh thank God!' he whispered, before the tears overtook everything and he broke down completely, sobbing as if his heart would break, yet also conscious that he did not normally cry like this; he attempted to shield his face with his hand, which shook more violently than she had ever seen.

She was horrified that he should shatter so before her and rushed to comfort him, edging closer to him on the sofa and pulling his shaking hand into hers gently, whispering 'Charlie! …. Charlie!' in rising concern as he tried to prevent her seeing him in this unfamiliar state.

'I thought …' he managed to gasp out before further cries choked his voice.

She caressed his hand, soothing it between the two of hers as she had done before, calming its trembling, and waited patiently for him to speak when he was ready.

Gradually the sobs ceased to wrack his body and she felt his hand curl around her fingers and grip them tightly before he slowly raised his eyes to look at her. In their depths she saw the slow fading of tremendous hurt which turned to overwhelming devotion.

'I thought,' he began again, with a voice that still trembled even though he had control of his emotions, 'that I'd lost you. That I had managed to destroy our happiness, and that two and a half years of wonderful closeness were all we were going to be entitled to. When you said you didn't want to spend time with me …'

'What?' she interrupted, trying to think of a time she might have implied such a thing. 'When did I say that?'

'The night we disagreed, when I spoke before thinking about Becky. I thought that was it – you'd finally grown tired of me, and we were destined to have that kind of marriage which continues for convenience's sake, but nothing more.'

She stared at him, remembering that moment months ago, dismayed that such a flippant remark of hers should have stung so deeply and that it very nearly wrecked their precious commitment.

'Oh my love' she said, leaning forward to place a tender kiss to his cheek, and then another at the corner of his mouth, 'I forget that my words have the power to harm. You must pay no attention to anything I say in anger or, better yet, challenge me on it! I love you so much, and to even think that I might not care for you as deeply as on our wedding day is awful and absolutely wrong.'

She looked down at their entwined hands and then disentangled hers, raising her right palm upwards, pointing at the top most line. 'Look Charlie, see upon the palms of my hands, I have written your name.' He took the offered hand and kissed the very spot she had pointed to, anointing it with a few fresh tears as his relief and love overwhelmed him.

'Is that why you've barely touched me since our disagreement?' she asked, bold enough to frame the question, but not quite so brave as to be able to look him in the eye as she did so.

'I didn't want to press myself on you if you had no wish for it or found me unwelcome.'

She could not answer him in words; they would have been woefully inadequate. Instead, with a flirtatious little smile, she moved towards him, snaking a hand around the back of his neck and delving her fingers into his hair, pressing a little to encourage him to move forward. She kissed him with all the passion she could muster, groaning into his mouth as his hand drew her nearer, rendered breathless by the fervent melding of their lips. He broke away, but only so that he could place feather light kisses to the rest of her face, whispering 'I love you, I love you,' between each of them as he did so. He pulled her closer, missing the feel of her, and groaned in frustration at the barrier which prevented her from being as pliable as he was used to when she was against him in their bed.

'Oh, that corset' he grumbled.

She laughed in knowing understanding and sat back a little. 'I thought about giving you my corset as a way of telling your about my retirement, only it's not made of leather, so I had to think again!'

His eyes gleamed at the promise her words seemed to imply about the infernal undergarment. 'When is the happy day to take place?'

'At some point in June. I've not yet sorted the finer details with her Ladyship or Miss Baxter, well, Mrs Molesley as she'll be then. It really is a very new plan.'

'What made you change your mind?'

'Everything and nothing. It's been running through my head ever since you raised the matter, although my pride wouldn't allow me to just give way. In the end, Lady Mary allowed me to see things clearly.'

His raised eyebrows and the little smirk about his lips spoke volumes and she gave his arm an affection tap in acknowledgement. 'Well, don't go thinking I've gone soft. I stand by much of what I've said in the past. But she allowed me to see that the barriers I was putting in the way were completely inconsequential in comparison to the most important thing of all – that you love me, regardless of whether I'm a pauper or a great lady.'

He leaned forward to kiss her but drew back before he could do so, scrutinising her. 'Is that why you wanted to carry on working? The money?'

She nodded. 'All my working life, I've sent some, or most, of my salary to help with Becky's care. I denied myself in many respects, including what I thought was my chance of happiness with you. That you should want to marry me, despite the fact I could bring nothing material to our union was, and still is a little, astonishing. When she died, I suddenly had free control over the money I made, and I thought I could balance things out a little. Added to which,' she broke off and gave a little rueful chuckle, 'I am a very stubborn woman who felt as if she were being asked to give up her independence and a position which most defined her.'

They shared a look as she revealed the threads of what had motivated her actions, and their eyes communicated that he thought it impossible that she should ever cease to be independent, whilst she tried to tell him how little it all mattered. It was not enough for her, however, she had to make him appreciate, especially after hurting him so deeply, how much she loved him. She grasped his hands, squeezing them as she spoke.

'I was wrong, Charlie. My position as housekeeper doesn't define me, not anymore at least. The design on the belt is more than just a way of telling you my plans. The chatelaine is the symbol of my protection and care over the Abbey, of my responsibility to its welfare. All of that, as well as my deep love and desire, I now transfer to you and this house, my first, my last, my only love.'

She did not allow herself to weep as she dedicated herself anew to her husband. Like the vows made three years before, these were every bit as solemn and sacred and deserved nothing but the most sincere declaration. He, too, recognised the importance of what she said and he brought her hands to his lips, never once breaking eye contact, kissing them repeatedly.

She felt the kiss deep within, her lips parting with desire even as he relinquished her hands and moved his to her hips so he could draw her onto his lap, bringing his lips to her neck the instant her body connected with his, nipping at the skin he could reach, before trailing a series of kisses along her jaw and claiming her mouth with a tender passion that was both intense and reverential. Her arms twined about his neck, her fingers splaying in the hairs at the nape as she tried to bring him closer – an impossible feat perhaps, but one they both understood the need for.

She shifted a little on his lap, partly to get comfortable but also through some primal need to move things forward. His hands clutched her hips as she wriggled and he groaned as he broke away from her lips, moving instead to the hollow of her throat, throwing desperate kisses all round her neck.

'Ohhhh,' she moaned as he found the spot just below her left ear which he had first discovered on their wedding night as he removed her hat. Then, as now, his attentions caused her to be vocal in her appreciation, but she was far from the embarrassment the sound had caused her three years ago, and she moaned again as he sucked her skin.

He paused in his adoration of her neck and raised his head to smile at her, sweeping her face with his eyes, taking her in entirely. The desire he felt for her was evident, but so too were the care and trust.

 _Total love,_ she thought, even as his gaze flitted further down her body.

'Lie back, my love,' he whispered, indicating that she should rest her head against the arm of the sofa, placing a couple of cushions behind her to support her back.

She did so, staring up at him under half lidded eyes, feeling the desire rise within her even though they'd barely done a thing. He leaned forward to kiss her again, a brief caress that was full of promise; when he drew back, she saw a thousand emotions in his eyes.

Sincerity won through the deep desire for a moment and he reached for her hand, clasping it between their bodies as he caressed and then kissed the gold band that still shone brightly on her third finger.

She was unable to speak and could only trace the lines on his face that were so uniquely him. She stared at him, silently telling him that she understood everything he did _not_ say, and that she loved him. They continued to touch with their eyes as well as their fingers, saying more in those minutes of silence than most people say aloud in an entire lifetime.

A thought occurred to him and he relinquished her hand to caress her neck, his fingers splaying as far as her cheek and collar bone so that she felt suddenly bare and he could touch all of her at once.

'You quoted Isaiah earlier as you helped me see how wrong I was.' He kissed her again, his hand moving slowly from her neck, skating over her chest and settling on her belly.

'Yes,' she whispered, not really sure if she was agreeing to what he said or giving him permission to continue touching her in this featherlight, tortuous way. They were both still fully clothed, yet she felt as open to him as if she were naked. This was her husband, lavishing his affections on her as if she were the finest, most precious thing on earth, and it made her heart soar, her blood sing. That they could want each other in this way was nothing short of the most perfect miracle.

His hand slid to her hip and then along her leg, over her skirt, but he never once removed his eyes from her as he continued to speak. 'It put me in mind of another verse, 'set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is as strong as death.''

'The song of Solomon' she gasped, clutching his shoulder as he mentioned the near, yet far, prospect of mortality. 'I never fully understood it until recently. The worshiping of another person in that way seemed so far-fetched.'

His hand moved under her skirt and his fingers circled her ankle and then inched up her lower leg. 'Until I started to worship you, you mean?' He smiled in a way that was both boyish and possessive, and her returning smile was curtailed by a sharp intake of breath as he caressed the underside of her knee, and then brushed the inside of her thigh.

'Yes,' she whispered, hardly able to keep her eyes open as the anticipation of where his fingers were heading threatened to overwhelm her senses. She conquered the struggle, wanting to show him how deep her desire for him went, and she licked her lips as they parted, her breathing becoming laboured as she felt his fingers hesitate just below that part of her she so greatly wished he would touch.

'I do worship you,' he rumbled, still hesitating from moving his fingers any higher. 'You and I are as one, we are etched on each other's souls.'

His fingers flickered then, almost without his instructing them, brushing at her through the fabric of her undergarments. She cried out, a moan deep and long, as he swept his fingers over her again. He watched as her head fell back, her eyes fluttering shut as she cried out 'Oh, God!'

It was his secret pleasure to watch her as she found her pleasure, to know he had the ability to create it. Her body flexed slightly, full movement hampered by her corset, as he brushed her centre and his other hand swept across her neck simultaneously.

A smile broke across her face as she felt his caresses, which had been so few and far between that year. She moved her hand from his shoulder to where his fingers still splayed over her neck and clasped them tightly, languidly opening her eyes and staring at him as she whispered in a tone thickened by emotion, 'take me to bed, Charles."

She stood on the steps as he extinguished the lights in the sitting room and firmly locked the front door. When he moved towards her, she made him pause at the foot of the staircase, enabling her to look directly into his eyes. She placed both her hands on his shoulders and kept him solidly in place as she looked her fill and then pressed her lips to his, pulling his lower lip between her teeth and tasting his skin, thoroughly intoxicated by the salty tang of him. She felt herself lifted off the step slightly as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her close against his body so that she felt the full extent of his arousal. When he set her back on the step she turned, his hand firmly fixed in his, and led him up the stairs to their bedroom.

She moved into the room ahead of him and switched on the lamps by the bedside, but he prevented her from turning on the main, brighter, light.

'No, leave it.'

She turned to find him still by the doorway, his jacket over his arm, loosening his tie as he gazed at her.

'I'm rather partial to seeing you in the lamplight,' he said, keeping by the door. 'It must be something to do with all those late night chats over sherry.'

She chuckled lightly. 'You make those chats sound quite risqué my love.'

'Only in my imagination.' He said lowly, continuing to stare at her from his place by the door.

He was too far away and her need for him, to feel his bulk against her, grew by the second as she stared back at him, watching with lips parted as he removed his tie completely and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. She stretched out an arm to him, beckoning him to her with a silent siren call, a soft smile on her lips which lit up her eyes too.

He heeded her silent request immediately, moving into her arms and bringing her close against him, his own arms wrapped about her slight frame, one hand slipping into and over her hair as he brought her head to rest just above his heart. They stood like that, swaying slightly in the soft light of their bedroom for a minute or two, until she felt his hands move lower, down her back and to her hips, where he found the buttons of her skirt. He unbuttoned them deftly and allowed the fabric to fall at her feet.

'Expertly done Mr Carson. You might make a fine lady's maid in time.'

She teased him, but her words were heavily laced with other emotions which did not relate to levity. She felt him kiss the top of her head as he stepped back, holding her firmly by the hands so that she could carefully step out of the circle of fabric.

'There's only one lady I ever want to assist, Elsie.' He brought her hands up to kiss both sets of knuckles and looked her directly in the eye as he did so. 'Let me undress you now? Please?'

'Of course,' she whispered, reading so much in his eyes, his remembrance of their past encounters, and one in particular: he had asked permission to remove her many layers on their wedding night, and she was thrilled to find he seemed to regard this evening as a renewal of all they had promised one another then, as did she.

He stooped to pull off his shoes, not even bothering to untie the laces, and he set them aside, along with his socks. He made quick work of the remaining buttons on his shirt, but she prevented him from removing it, silently telling him that she wanted that honour later on. His trousers were soon cast to lie alongside his shoes and jacket and he stood before her, shirt open, the ends coming to rest over his shorts which showed the strain of containing his desire.

Her eyes flickered down his body and her lips parted in anticipation of the delights that she knew were awaiting her. But suddenly she was distracted by his hands moving over her blouse, undoing the buttons slowly and methodically. He stepped forward slightly to pull the material from her arms, making sure it did not snag on her corset as he removed it. He held the blouse limply between his fingers as he leant forward to place half a dozen or so open mouthed kisses to the wide area of skin he had laid bare, and then absentmindedly let it fall as he turned her in his arms to unlace her corset.

That infernal garment dispensed with (almost once and for all he thought to himself, with an almost giddy delight) he spun her back to face him and reached down for the hem of her shift. He dragged it up her body and over her head, making quite sure to let at least one finger of each hand run up the length of her skin as he revealed it. She let out a shuddering sigh as she felt his touch and swayed a little as she stood, reaching out to clutch his arm as he dropped her shift on the little pile of clothes he had created.

He took two steps back to admire her as she stood in the middle of their bedroom, entirely naked except for her undergarments and shoes. He did not normally have the opportunity to gaze at her body so openly when she was still partly dressed, and the decadent thrill it gave him was intoxicating.

She did not deny his gaze, but met his stare and appreciated his own body in her turn. There was no denying how aroused she was, though; the flush spreading over her chest and up her neck confirmed it, as did her nipples, which stood out proudly and invited his touch.

He had other plans, however, and slowly sank to the floor before her. He felt her waver above him, and heard a low 'flump', but it was not until he glanced up that he realised she had removed the pins which held her hair in place, allowing it to flow down her back and come to rest just above her bottom.

'My own personal Godiva,' he said, and he moved to unclasp the fasteners of her stockings, making quick work of their removal as well as her garter belt and knickers, the last barriers to her complete nakedness.

His fingers brushed her core fleetingly and her scent floated out towards him. He looked up at her, wide eyed with wonder and desire. He did not know how it was possible for her to be more beautiful than the day he married her, but the evidence before him showed that it was perfectly possible.

She looked down at him, saw the deep feelings run across his face, and was greatly moved to know that it was she who inspired them. She reached out, her fingertips brushing his forehead and the curls that rested there, the only part of him that she could really reach as she gave a small, contented, sigh.

He moved up and captured one of her breasts in his mouth, running his tongue around the nipple repeatedly, her hands clenching in his hair, as she urged him to continue with the lavishing of his affections.

She stepped backwards slowly, causing him to stand as she did so and cast a glance over her shoulder to the bed and then back to him. Reaching out, she ran her hands along his shoulders before pushing the material which covered them off and down his arms, dropping his shirt in a careless heap as she placed a reverential kiss to the middle of his chest. His shorts were swiftly removed too, although she made sure to linger long enough to touch the firm silkiness of his hardness, and then she was moving once again, stepping backwards to the bed and climbing upon it, and moving back towards the pillows. He followed her movements, coming to lie by her side, their legs entwined as he leaned forward to kiss her deeply.

She needed him nearer, within her, and she pulled him up to her with her legs, spreading them as she trailed her hand from his face to his chest and whispered, 'Now, please, my love.'

She did not need to say any more; he moved over her and slid deep within her with a long, yet satisfied, groan, she was just as vocal as he as she felt him fill her.

'Yes!' she cried as she tilted her hips to meet him and felt him slip impossibly deeper; she felt her breasts press against him and heard his breath loud in her ear.

He thrust into her again and again, setting a rhythm that was intense even in its steady measure. Her hands rose up above her head, splaying into the pillow, and his melded with hers, so that their entwined fingers mirrored the passionate coupling of the rest of their bodies.

'Come undone for me Elsie' he groaned into her ear. 'I love you, let me see you, let me hear you.'

That was all it took for her to fall over the edge as he thrust into her again and again, watching through the haze of his own passion as his beautiful wife shattered entirely, which in turn caused his own wonderful release.

It would not be the most passionate moment they would ever share, but both of them would think back to their third anniversary as representing a dramatic shift in their romantic relationship. They had rededicated their hearts, souls and bodies to each other than night and, whilst their future would by no means be always tranquil and happy, they would, in times of trial, hold fast to the simple truths of their mutual adoration and commitment.

Their love shone like a beacon to carry them through all the following years.

 **A/N: Life and a heavy cold transpired to make this chapter later than I intended. Shout out to CSoTA who set alarm bells ringing with the question of 'were belts really worn in this era?' It turns out, yes, but only just into the twenties, hence the probably clunky bit of explanation into how Carson comes to wear one. It was just too lovely a bit of poetic symmetry to give up. CSoTA also earns my eternal thanks for the patience she has shown in guiding me through the editing of this. It's been a pig of a chapter.**

 **The Isaiah is from ch49 v16. I have loved the Song of Solomon ever since Rowan Atkinson got shown the way to loving his wife again through it (and Maggie Smith wielding an iron) in Keeping Mum. The bit I used is from ch8 v6.**

 **To tell the truth, I am feeling a touch bruised by the effort of writing this chapter, which may have more to do with my cold than anything else, but let me say how much I value feedback when I've spent so long trying to make this the best it can be. A review, or a whole baker's dozen of them, would light up my world forever. I really do appreciate knowing what makes you set this on follow, or favourite it.**


	3. Crystal (1940)

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews of chapter two. Writing is a very precious thing to me, and getting feedback has turned out to be more important than I thought it would be when I first started writing. Without sounding too whiny or desperate to hear your voices, can I just point out that if you read this (and certainly the stats suggest people are) and share your thoughts with me, you are doing more than just bolstering my ego. You are affirming that the whole days spent thinking, writing, researching, typing up, are worth it; that you appreciate the time. It's not just about wanting to know if I'm good, it's more about finding out how things have touched you. Reviews matter, and I am sincerely grateful for each and every one of them.**

 **Soap box commentary over, I herewith present you with the third chapter of this little journey. I'm afraid there's quite a large time jump, so a lot of ground is covered in the first part. Hang on in there though – there are feels galore in the second half.**

 **Further commentary on inspirations and the like are at the bottom.**

 **Chapter 3: Crystal (1940)**

Time has a habit of speeding up when you are looking the other way, and before Mrs. Carson had properly noticed the months start to slip by, the momentous decade of the twenties was far behind her, and she had been flung into the middle of the thirties and her tenth year of marriage before she even realised it.

She had adjusted to retirement with far more ease than she had expected, relishing the longer hours with her husband spent discussing the latest literature (he had surprised her by voicing an admiration for D.H. Lawrence's writing style, if not some of the actual content), walks around the lanes of the estate, and the short holidays where she introduced him to the Scotland of her youth. They discovered new cities and cultures to love as well, getting as far as Venice before global circumstances curtailed their, and indeed everyone's, movements.

Isobel persuaded both her and Beryl Mason to put their organising talents to good use in many ways on various committees and charities. If anyone had expected Lady Merton to adopt the mantle of her title and play lady bountiful from afar, they had clearly misunderstood her character entirely. Perhaps it was because she still resided at Crawley House, and the weight of Cavenham Park had not stifled her soul, as it had clearly twisted Larry and Amelia, who had won themselves no friends at all since Dickie had left the house to marry the woman he loved. Isobel used her title only in so far as it opened doors that would otherwise have been shut in her face. Both Elsie and Beryl had been quietly impressed by how much a kindly smile and soft word from 'Lady Merton' could do when plans for the further education of the working classes, or a better orphanage for the South Ridings hit otherwise insurmountable obstacles.

The three women had become closer than any of them might have imagined. Crawley House, Yew Tree Farm, and the Carson's cottage regularly rang with laughter as they, and their husbands, shared the experiences of their lifetimes and watched the younger generations find purpose and bring children of their own into the world.

Time continued to move on, marking its passage in a number of ways. Beryl had gone completely grey in the early thirties, whilst both Isobel and Elsie maintained some streaks of colour to offset their own greying hair. Charles, having suffered a bad bout of pneumonia in 1938 still had not regained some of the weight he had lost then, and moved at a slower pace due to arthritis in his knees; but then none of the gentlemen were exempt from that particular affliction. Even Cora commented that Robert had had to give up shooting because his fingers were too stiff to pull the trigger.

They were all getting older and time marched on. Everyone expressed surprise that it should be 1940 already, although those comments were generally eclipsed by the sorrowful wonder that the new decade should have brought another horrific war to suffer through. None of them could believe that such a thing should come to pass. Both Anna and Daisy thanked God that their sons were too young to join up, although William, Frank and Peter all protested loudly that they would make their parents proud if only they were allowed to fight. Sybbie had proved the spirit of her mother was alive and well by rushing to London to complete her medical training, passing with flying colours – which surprised no one – gaining a position in St Thomas's hospital immediately. George, who was days shy of his 18th birthday when war had been declared, had enlisted the minute he was able and was now who knows where. His entire family, both biological and adopted, waited anxiously for news and Mr Barrow had taken to telephoning the cottage and Crawley house whenever Lady Mary got a letter. As before, war had united everyone.

It had also made the celebration of friends and loved ones that much more special, which is why Elsie found herself, one late February afternoon, in a suite of the Royal York Hotel, Beryl and Bert Mason just down the hall, with Isobel and Dickie due to meet them later. Charles had gone out to explore a little, leaving her free to get ready for their outing to the ballet – a suggestion of Isobel's to celebrate the years of marriage they all enjoyed – fifteen for the Mertons and Carsons, whilst the Masons would reach the fourteen year mark in June.

Isobel had justified the war time decadence by arranging for the Royal National Ballet to give a performance for the Northern soldiers, so there would be plenty of youthful exuberance to cheer the older generation, and create a bright memory for the soldiers when their leave was finished. The war had already proved to be as destructive as the one before it.

As Elsie stepped out of the ensuite bathroom, snugly wrapped in a dressing gown, her eye caught the fine ensemble she was to wear that evening and smiled, thinking back to the discussion that had culminated in her ownership of such a beautiful dress.

CECECE

Beryl was in the middle of regaling Isobel and Elsie with the latest exploits of the Parker children, whom both she and Bert regarded quite as their own grandchildren. Andy had proved himself more than capable of farm management, and once he'd finally got round to proposing to Daisy, late in 1927, he'd given up service completely, and the newlyweds had moved in with the Masons. To say the household was chaotic, with the twins a rambunctious 12, Rosemary a highly intelligent 10, free spirit Sheila a calm 8 and a half, and the surprise of the group, Harry, aged 4, was probably the biggest understatement of all time.

Beryl had the other women in gales of laughter as she described a trick the twins had tried to play on Rosemary, only to find the tables turned when she had coolly gathered up the possessions they had strewn about the house and acted as if she had left them in such odd places.

'And then' hooted Beryl, hardly able to get the words out, she was laughing so much, 'She had the wit to ask them if they'd thought up any other ingenious storage places for her books, because she'd grown tired of the bookcase. They were so angry!'

Laughter filled Isobel's sitting room and Elsie remarked, not for the first time, that it was astonishing that two such quiet people should have borne such outspoken children.

'Well, they both have had their moments. Especially Daisy.' Beryl remarked, thinking back to the time she'd almost lost her job in defence of her father in law. Elsie only rolled her eyes in agreement as she sipped her tea.

Later, Isobel turned the conversation to the theatre trip. 'What are you two planning to wear?'

Beryl and Elsie shared a look of surprise, confirming to Isobel that they'd not even thought about it.

'It depends on where we're sitting I would think.' Elsie answered carefully.

'We'll be in the stage box' answered Isobel, deliberately bending to refill her tea cup so she wouldn't have to witness the panic that she was sure would be floating across her friends faces.

'Oh lord!' exclaimed Beryl. 'You mean we won't be able to hide away in the gods?'

'As my guests, I could hardly suggest you do that!' Isobel smiled warmly, a plan already forming in her head.

'I suppose I could wear my wedding outfit,' mused Elsie. 'The last time I wore the coat was ten years ago, at Cora and Robert's 40th anniversary party.' She had thought the gesture would be odd and open to misconstruction, but Cora's eyes had lit up when she saw that she was wearing it, and had made a point of bestowing a kiss to her former housekeeper's cheek when she greeted her.

'That dress was out of fashion the first time you wore it,' grumbled Beryl into her tea.

'You bought it!' Elsie cried in mock outrage.

'Well, anything was better than what you planned to wear', retorted Beryl, narrowly avoiding sticking her tongue out at her friend as she grinned in satisfaction. Living with so many children had had something of an effect on her sense of humour.

'Ladies,' Isobel broke through the light teasing and stood up. 'I have an idea if you'll follow me upstairs.'

Elsie and Beryl followed in Isobel's wake up to her dressing room, each feeling uneasy about invading her private quarters, even by invitation. Isobel threw open the magnificent looking mahogany armoire and stood in contemplation of the contents, occasionally reaching out to touch a sleeve or send an appraising glance Elsie's way.

'Ah, this is what I was thinking of,' she eventually said, drawing out a particular hanger, hooking it over the door so that the full length of the dress could be seen.

It was a deep midnight blue velvet, with full sleeves embellished with sequins just above the crease of the elbow. The neckline was simple, and fairly high, as Elsie liked them. At the waist, the fabric was nipped in slightly to create darts running vertically, both up and down. In short, it was perfectly Elsie, as well she instantly knew.

'It's beautiful' she said, reaching out to feel the fabric.

'It is,' agreed Isobel. 'It's yours if you want it.'

'Isobel!' Elsie turned, shocked by the generosity. 'This isn't a hat you've had good wear of and grown tired, choosing to pass it on the frugal housekeeper. This looks like it's hardly been worn.'

'Once,' agreed Isobel. 'But it didn't suit me all that well. Please allow me to give it to you Elsie. I never did give you a wedding present.' She turned and reached out a hand to Beryl. 'You either. I want this evening to be a celebration of all that our lives have become, including our friendship. Please allow me to do this.'

'If you've got something in there that'll fit me, I'll eat my hat!' cried Beryl, attempting to inject some humour into what had become a rather emotional atmosphere.

'Perhaps not.' Isobel smiled warmly, sensing in what had not been said that the two women had accepted her gift. 'But I know of somewhere we'll be bound to find something. Trust me.'

CECECE

Elsie had dressed and just finished putting up her hair, reverting to the complex twists she had favoured before the Great War, sensing that the simplicity of the dress needed a hairstyle to offset that, when she heard the door to the suite bang shut as Charles hurried in from his outing.

'Lost track of the time!' he called. She thought she heard the click of his suitcase lid, which was odd as she had already laid out his evening attire, but the idea did not linger as she made her way from the bathroom and paused in the doorway, leaning her right shoulder against the frame and looked at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his shoes.

'Would you like some help with your cufflinks?'

He shook his head, his attention still focussed on his shoes. 'I should be able to remove these. The evening ones are fiddly though, I'll probably need your help with …'

His voice faded as he finally looked up and caught sight of her in the doorway. His eyes widened and his lips parted as if he would speak, but no sound came from them, he just stared at her in wonder. 'Oh Elsie' he eventually murmured, his eyes continually roving over her body as he took in every detail of her dress, the way it fell from her curves, appreciating the depth of the colour which so perfectly complimented her skin tone and offset the lightness of her hair.

She felt his gaze upon her as keenly as if he had mapped her with his fingers and grew a little breathless at the intensity of the emotion which shone from his eyes. She curled her left arm behind her and tweaked the skirt a little, breaking eye contact as she watched the fabric shift.

'It's not too much, is it?' she asked, suddenly self-conscious that she was playing at being a grand lady when she had no right to aspire to anything she did not already have.

'Too much?' He sounded perplexed and rose from the bed, moving towards her, a little haltingly, as if she were a vision that might dissolve if he got too close. 'Elsie, you look magnificent. Breath-taking.' He stood in front of her, his knuckles kneading his palm as he tried to prevent himself reaching out to touch her. She looked so perfect that he was almost afraid to touch her, lest he mar her in some way. 'I shall be ever so proud to have you on my arm tonight.'

She smiled radiantly at that, and reached out for his hand, which he still twisted in his palm. Dropping a loving kiss to the top of it, she placed it over her heart, covering it with her own hand, holding him in place. Permission to touch her was implied in the gesture as she silently reassured him that she was still the same Elsie underneath all the finery.

It was all the invitation he needed to move a step closer, his other hand covering her hip, drawing her nearer to him. He dipped his head towards her, kissing her tentatively, and the feel of her pliant lips beneath his caused him to sigh longingly into her mouth as he tasted her. His arm slid from her hip around her waist, and the hand lightly resting on her heart swept over her chest and down around her middle to join it. She leaned back against the door frame, using the extra support to her benefit as her hands ran through his hair and she melted into his embrace, her breasts pushing up into his chest. Deepening the kiss, she moaned as the tip of her tongue met his, and their lips slid over each other in the passionate interplay she had grown so used to over the years, yet which never failed to inspire a thrill of desire deep within her.

The clock chimed the half hour, and they broke apart reluctantly as he realised he had little time to dress. Fleetingly her hand rested on his cheek as it withdrew from tangling in his hair and then trailed down his arm, giving his elbow a light squeeze as she moved away to check her hair. 'Later' her smile seemed to promise.

Having dressed, they departed their suite, moving down the corridor to knock on the door of Beryl and Bert's room. It was pulled open by a genial looking Bert, also in evening dress, a first for him, although the Carsons thought he wore it well and Charles made a point of complimenting him.

'Thanks, now if you'd just convince my wife she looks as marvellous as I say she does, we'll be fine.'

'It's all very well for you!' came a frazzled voice from somewhere inside the room. 'You can hide all of your flaws under a mound of fabric. I don't know why I let Isobel talk me into this.'

'Because you looked splendid', called Elsie, shooting a sympathetic glance to Bert. 'And if you'll just come out of hiding, I'm sure Charles will agree with me.'

There was a snort of disbelief, but also the sound of footsteps as Beryl finally gathered her courage and appeared in the doorway. Charles did not need any prompting for compliments as he looked at his old friend, and a smile grew almost instantly.

'I do agree Beryl. You look wonderful.'

Beryl's dress was black, or possibly the deepest navy blue, Charles wasn't quite sure, and the silk underdress was covered with chiffon and wide bands of ribbon at the bottom. The sleeves were sheer, matching the bottom of the dress, and reached three quarters of the way down Beryl's arms, whilst the neckline dipped lower than anything he'd seen her in before, although it was still high enough for her modest sensibilities. The entire ensemble was completed by a silver buckle in the front which nipped the waist in slightly, and served to accentuate Beryl's curves in a flattering way.

'You look lovely' Charles reiterated, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, something he rarely did, but which he sensed would do more than flattering words could to set her mind at rest.

Beryl smiled a little, but huffed with residual discontent. 'It's my arms that bother me most. The sleeves are so sheer!'

'Ah – I thought you might worry about that, so I brought you this.' Elsie produced a white shawl, made of the finest lace, from behind her back. Shaking it out, she draped it around Beryl's back, allowing it to fall over her arms in precisely the places she knew would cover what her friend thought of as her flaws.

'Oh it's wonderful' Beryl said, looking down at the fabric with an appreciative eye.

'Charles gave me that for our eleventh anniversary.' Elsie sent a warm smile in her husband's direction, which was returned tenfold, his eyes communicating how much he approved of the way she had managed to make her friend feel at ease.

'He bought it on that trip to Venice, didn't he? Then had Anna hide it for a full six months!'

'Aye, although how he managed to keep it from me when we were on holiday, I'll never know.'

'And you will continue to wonder,' Charles responded, resting a hand on the small of her back and gesturing they should go downstairs to where Isobel and Dickie would be waiting for them in the bar. 'A little mystery is a skill every husband should learn.'

Elsie glanced up at him as they moved down the corridor, taking in his sombre face. The twitch of his lips gave him away, however, and she curled her arm about his as she laughed lightly. 'Oh, you!'

The quartet was still laughing slightly as they entered the bar. They did not need to look around for Isobel and Dickie; the instant they entered she was gliding towards them, her husband slightly behind her, his eyes warm as he took in the trio of ladies.

Isobel wore a full length lilac dress, which had voluminous sleeves, sharply nipped in at the wrists. A wide belt gathered the dress about the middle. It could have been quite ordinary were it not for the silver thread which was woven into intricate patterns. On Isobel it looked stunning. Dickie was in the same formal attire as Charles and Bert but, Elsie noticed, his bow tie had a slight hint of purple in it, to match his wife's dress.

'Ladies, you look splendid. If I might be permitted …'

Dickie handed a single yellow rose to Elsie and Beryl, Isobel already clutching a pink bloom, and inclined his head slightly towards the duo, knowing that anything more demonstrative would probably make them uncomfortable.

'To friendship indeed' said Elsie, the symbolism instantly apparent, glancing around the group, raising her rose in a kind of toast. Leaving the bar to make their way to the theatre, Elsie would her arm through her husband's and glanced once again at her companions. It was something of a miracle that three sets of people at their time of life should have found such deep love and companionship waiting for them. She pressed Charles's forearm, where her hand rested, and was rewarded by a light touch in return. He understood.

The theatre foyer was full of cheerful soldiers and supportive members of the public, so it took some time to get to the stage box, partly because so many people wanted to thank Isobel personally for the entertainment.

Eventually they got through the crush of people and as Elsie entered the box, she had to work hard to keep her gasp of awe in check. The space was generous, seeming to be two usual boxes joined together. Plush red velvet curtains hung either side of it, and the box was so wide it allowed six chairs to sit comfortably side by side, instead of the usual configuration, where tradition dictated the women sat in front, whilst the gentlemen were placed behind them. All three ladies were glad that they would not be separated from their partners and could share the experience together.

A hush descended the theatre as the conductor appeared and the first notes of Giselle's overture were played.

This was Elsie, Beryl and Bert's first experience of the ballet, and each of them were held spellbound as they watched the drama unfold in front of them. Isobel sighed happily as Giselle and her princely lover, Albrecht, declared their devotion to each other, although she was well aware of his deception and the fact he would soon break Giselle's heart by honouring his arranged betrothal to the princess Bathilde, who coldly ignored the peasant girl's pleadings to let him go.

Elsie and Beryl shared a look of sorrow as Giselle pleaded with the prince to reconsider, only to die of a weak and broken heart in the arms of the gamekeeper, Hilarion, who had loved her from afar.

As the curtain fell on the first act, Elsie turned to her right and fixed Isobel with a steely look. 'I thought you said this was a celebration of love? She's just died of a broken heart!'

Isobel shook her head, laughing lightly and reaching over to pat Elsie's hand. 'Be patient. It gets better.'

'Hmm.' Elsie twitched her lips in good humoured disbelief and cast her eyes over the stalls, which were full of soldiers and their girlfriends as well as some women in military uniforms. She spotted a couple hurrying up one of the aisles and as they glanced her way, she realised who they were. Her eyes lit up, even as one of them laid his finger to his lips and hurried on.

Minutes later, when the group was chatting idly, a knock on the door sounded, before it was pushed open.

'Is there room in here for a weary soldier and his rather impressive WAAF cousin?'

'George!' cried Isobel, springing up from her seat and rushing to envelope him in her arms. 'And Marigold!' She extended an arm to wrap around the blushing woman. 'I had no idea you were on leave!'

'Well, I had a few days, and was planning to go to Downton and surprise Mama, but the General, for reasons best known to himself, granted me two more days. Mama is still in London and so I thought I'd look up Marigold here and persuade her into a little fun.'

'You make me sound so serious George!' Marigold put in, looking highly amused.

'Well you are! Barely 18, already a Sergeant, and on first name terms with half the senior Yorkshire staff!'

'It helps when your mother is a Marchioness and runs one of the most influential magazines of the day.' Marigold answered, deflecting the praise George heaped on her. Smiling, she drew away from Isobel and turned to the others, embracing them all and asking after their health and families with keen interest.

'How's the farm doing, Mr Mason?'

'Oh, pretty well,' he grinned. 'Mr Tiddles, who I know you're really asking after, is fine. Enjoying a stately old age now there's no small children or ducklings to torment him.'

Beryl snorted. 'No, and that's because Andy lets the ducklings in the house, so they torment us instead. I blame you!' She turned to poke George in the arm, the young man just grinning and pressing his hand to his heart.

'A gentleman should always rescue ducklings!'

The laughter the company dissolved into was heard in the stalls below them.

Isobel's eyes had hardly stopped gazing at her grandson since his appearance. His childhood blonde hair had darkened a bit as he had grown, and his face favoured the angular lines of his mother, but in his uniform the resemblance to his father was remarkable and her heart swelled with love and pride as she looked at him. Her close perusal caused her to notice a bright red scar running parallel to his jaw, which she reached out to trace as she asked 'What's this George?'

The young man rubbed his face and smiled ruefully. 'I had a disagreement with a chair in the mess after one too many beers! Not the most glorious of battle scars really. I can't wait to get into the thick of things, like father did, and do him proud!'

Elsie heard the sharp hiss as Isobel drew in a breath, and she turned to George, reaching out to smooth his uniform, tugging his ear in admonishment as she did so.

'Your father would be proud of you even if you spent the war in an office. Just remember the price that was paid to keep him from truly serious injury.'

Elsie did not need to glance at her companions in order for George to catch her meaning. He looked suitably chastened and turned towards Bert.

'Excuse my youthful insensitivity Mr Mason. I don't forget that your son sacrificed his own health for the sake of my father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that action. I'll do them both proud.'

Bert nodded and reached out to shake George's hand. 'Thank you for that, lad. You're just as eager as my William ever was to do his duty, and that's a fine thing. All we ask is that you do your best and stay safe. You're worth more than a chest full of medals and some battle scars.'

George nodded and moved to embrace his grandmother once more. The bell sounding the end of the interval rang shortly afterwards, he and Marigold returning to their seats after extracting a promise from them all to visit the Abbey before the end of his leave.

The ballet resumed, the spirit of Giselle wandering in the woods as she mourned the loss of her love. Albrecht appeared, wracked with guilt over his actions, and as he paused by the grave of his beloved, he was ensnared by the Queen of the Willis, a group of ghostly women who had died for unrequited love, and danced men to their deaths as punishment.

The spirit of Giselle reappeared and pleaded for the life of her lover, to the unmoved spirits. As the music swelled, and the grand pas de deux was performed, Giselle and Albrecht dancing for all they were worth to convince the queen his life was worthy, and thereby uniting in love for a final time, Elsie reached out and grasped Charles's hand tightly, squeezing it as love triumphed over death before her.

The ballet culminated with the Queen finally relenting, and allowing Albrecht to cease his deathly dance. Giselle rested in peace at last, whilst the prince committed himself to mourning his love forever more, as was fitting.

The curtain fell and Elsie stirred herself from the position she had held for much of the second act and applauded warmly. 'Love really does conquer death' she said, turning in her seat. It was no surprise that Beryl should be in tears after that moving performance, but her casual comment seemed to inspire fiercer sobs, and her friend clung to Bert's jacket, concealing her face in his shoulder as she cried.

'What on earth?' exclaimed Elsie, as Charles and Dickie rose from their seats in unison and drew the curtains across the box.

Beryl did not cease crying, and Bert rubbed her back soothingly, even as he smiled sadly up at the group of concerned friends who hovered, unsure of what to do next, in front of him.

'Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on?' Elsie exclaimed, her tone sharp as her alarm grew with Beryl's continued weeping.

There was a pause as Bert turned his head to place a kiss on his wife's hair and then looked up at his friends.

'I've got Cancer,' he said quietly, 'And I've not got long.'

'Oh no' whispered Elsie, sinking into the chair nearest Beryl, whilst Dickie placed a hand on Bert's shoulder in silent support.

'Is there anything we can do?' Isobel asked. 'Perhaps a London doctor would give you a second opinion?'

'No.' Bert shook his head. 'Dr Clarkson has confirmed it is inoperable. I don't want to be poked and prodded for nothing.'

'We'll help in any way we can.' Elsie assured him, her voice wavering slightly and leaning over to grasp his hand as well as Beryl's.

'I couldn't tell you,' sniffed the former cook as she leaned away from her husband at last. 'This evening was supposed to be such a celebration.'

'I know,' soothed Elsie, Isobel coming to stand next to her. 'But we know now, and you don't have to cope alone for a minute if you don't want to.'

Beryl nodded, smiling weakly in appreciation, and once she had dried her tears, the three couples walked slowly back to the hotel, none of them speaking, but each of them thinking of the precious nature of their love in the face of death which would come to them all eventually.

CECECE

The weeks that followed, as February slipped seamlessly into March and April appeared alarmingly quickly, were gruelling. Elsie spent a large portion of her time at the farm, trying to help organise the children in order that Beryl should be with Bert as much as possible as the cancer took hold and started to squeeze the life out of him. On good days, he could sit in his chair by the fire and crack jokes, but those were soon few and far between and Elsie often found herself sitting by his bedside for an hour in order to allow Beryl a brief moment to eat or talk quietly with Daisy.

Charles and Elsie's 15th anniversary had come and gone with very little to mark the occasion, both having agreed presents would be extravagant in war time, and neither having the energy to prepare more than their usual, simple, evening meal.

Two days after their anniversary, however, Elsie returned from the farm, supremely weary, to find the downstairs of the cottage deserted. The presence of Charles's hat and coat in the hallway suggested he had not gone out. She climbed the stairs, positive that they had become steeper since the morning and pushed open the doorway to their bedroom.

'Hello, love' came a voice from behind the door and she moved around it so that the whole bed came into view. Charles was sitting on it, his shoes discarded on the floor, with all the pillows stacked behind him. A pile of paper lay by his side, and his reading glasses perched on his nose.

Elsie closed the door behind her and slumped against it as she looked at him, smiling wearily. 'Hello. Ohh, but I'm exhausted.'

'You look it, if it's not too rude to say so. Come and sit and tell me about it.'

'Well, budge up. My side of the bed is too far away and you've taken all the pillows anyway.'

He chuckled as he shifted to make room, and after she removed her shoes, she sat on the bed next to him, groaning as her bones protested, and nestled into his shoulder. 'Oh, I'm getting too old for all this rushing about.'

'Nonsense. You're far sprightlier than I was at 78. How was Bert?'

'A rare good day. He even managed to get up for a bit. But trying to explain to the children he's not really better is so difficult. Harry is far too young to understand, bless him, and the twins are so pleased to see him their exuberance bubbles over, and then end up causing more noise. Beryl can't help but snap at them in her concern for Bert, and then Daisy and I have to cope with tears from the children AND Beryl on top of everything else. I don't know when I've been as exhausted.'

Charles tilted his head to place a tender kiss to her hairline and squeezed her waist in understanding. He reached over to the pile of paper he had been reading as she came in and drew out a sheet. 'I think this might reveal such a time.' he said, and then began to read.

 _Dear Mr Carson,_

 _The Abbey is in absolute chaos. There are maids serving in the dining room, Mr. Molesley is proving to be a disaster and we're a maid short since Jane left unexpectedly this morning. I could probably make light of it all, joke about the maids and the way you suppose our standards to be lowering, were it not for the fact that on top of everything else illness and death are stalking the halls, and_ _you_ _have been caught up in the clutches of the Spanish flu. I am beyond tired and yet I cannot rest. Not until I know you are safe from this blight, which has taken residence here._

 _You are showing signs of improvement, but then so too was Miss Swire, and now she is dead. Thank goodness Lady Grantham has pulled through, because I daren't think what her demise would do to the family, but don't you see Mr Carson? You claim you feel better, indeed Dr Clarkson confirms it, but so too did Miss Swire, and then she was wrenched from those who love her._

 _I need to sleep, but I cannot rest if there is even a slim possibility that you are about to leave this world. About to leave me. I think my heart would break. Yet I would have to remain strong, unable to properly mourn for the man I love, because my feelings must remain closed within myself. It is not done for the Housekeeper to love the Butler. I think I would prefer your removal to Haxby than this._

 _At least I can take care of you. There is no one else I would trust to do it, but even if there were, I would insist upon doing it all. It is the only way I can assure myself that you will pull through this hellish time._

 _Fight and survive this, Mr Carson. I can bear the trial of keeping my feelings to myself if I can be promised the continuation of your friendship._

 _With all my love_

 _Elsie Hughes_

As Charles read, Elsie shifted fully onto her side, draping her left arm over his middle and pulling him close. She rested her head on his chest, comforting herself with the sound of his heartbeat as he relived the pain she had gone through more than twenty years before. As he finished reading, she pulled her head back to look at him, straining her neck to gaze deeply into his eyes, her own glinting with tears she refused to shed.

She reached up to kiss him and he responded fervently, darting his tongue into her mouth as his hand ran over her hip and gently caressed the curve of her bottom. She was about to move over him, despite the protestation of her joints, wanting to be closer to him, when he broke away from her.

'I have something for you,' he whispered, the moment of their kiss having seemingly cast a quiet spell he was loathe to break. 'Sit up a minute.'

She leaned forward as he suggested and he reached behind her to his bedside table, taking a small box out of the top drawer. Resuming his original position against the pillows, he pulled her back into his embrace and held out his hand, a small crystal box inlaid with gold leaf like details sitting in the middle of his palm.

'Happy anniversary.'

She reached out to pick it up and glanced at him frowning. 'But we said no presents.'

'I know, but I found this in York the day of the ballet, and it seemed too perfect to pass by. Open it.'

She did so, lifting the lid of the small oblong box and was surprised to find some sort of ornament within it, a large teardrop pearl catching her eye instantly.

'Charles, what on earth …?'

He squeezed her shoulder and dropped a kiss to her cheek before he replied. 'We're not going to make thirty years Elsie, however much I tease you, nor however much I wish for it. In my heart, though, we've been married for a lifetime, and when I saw this, it seemed to symbolise it.'

She did not answer him, reaching over his legs to set the box down amongst the pile of her letters instead, before standing up, almost tripping over her shoes as she moved to the window, gripping the frame tightly as she stared, unseeing, at their garden below.

'Elsie?' he questioned, surprised by her sudden movement away from him and a little alarmed by her silence.

She let go of the window and wrapped her arms around her middle in a protective gesture. She leaned her forehead to the cool pane and took a deep breath before speaking. 'What are you trying to say Charles? Are you ill? Have I been supporting Beryl when I should have been making the most of my time with you?'

Understanding dawned and he rose from the bed to her, turning her about as soon as he reached her, so that he could stare deeply into her eyes. 'Oh Elsie … NO. I am perfectly well, I promise. I might wish that my joints didn't click every time I moved, that I didn't have to wear glasses to read, and that my body would allow me to make love to you as often as my mind contemplates it, but other than those things I am well. I'm not going anywhere.'

He drew her face towards him to place a tender kiss to her lips, his heart contracting as she cried out in delight and pain at the connection, and then wrapped her in his arms, feeling her frame shake with sobs as she clung to him, her hands moving frantically over his back, his shoulders, his arms, any part of him that she could reach to reassure herself that he was here and whole before her.

'I love you,' she whispered into his chest before drawing back and clutching his arms tightly, looking up at him. 'I love you.' She repeated the phrase, her voice laden with both affection and determination. 'We might well have had over thirty years in each other's company, but only for the last fifteen have I been able to tell you and show you, and I'm not ready to give that up.'

She rose up on her toes, drawing her hands around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair, resting her lips on his. 'I love you,' she whispered again against him, the vibration of her voice on his skin making him groan deeply. He tightened his hold on her waist and pressed his lips more firmly against her, barely moving them as he tried to convey the reciprocated wealth of emotions he felt for her. They stayed connected like that for a moment or two, and then he nipped at her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth slightly before he soothed the place he had nibbled with his tongue.

She gasped with desire as she stretched up on her toes even further, feeling the strength of his body against her and melted into his embraces. She felt the assurance of his vitality in his kisses and allowed the panic and sadness that had invaded her mind to subside as she lost herself to the love he poured into her troubled soul.

They broke apart eventually, but although she sank back onto her heels, she made no other move to relinquish contact, and he moved his hands from her waist to her back, rubbing soothing circles there, and whispering of his love for her into her hair. He felt the tension seep out of her body and only when he was sure she had made full peace with her worries did he step back to look at her.

'I promise you will be the first to know if I feel unwell. Were it in my power, I'd live forever if it meant spending eternity with you. That's not possible, although I intend to spend the rest of the time I am allowed loving you to the best of my ability.'

'You already do Charles,' she replied, reaching up to caress his cheek before she turned towards the bed. 'Explain the significance of what you bought me?'

He moved with her back to the bed, readjusting the pillows to support their backs. He sat, shifting over towards the middle, extending his arm to her. She joined him instantly, turning on her side a little, and threading her legs between his, whilst he wrapped his left arm tightly about her shoulders. Passing the box to her, he pointed to the crystal and gold in turn. 'That's 15 obviously, and the gold is for 50. It was the only item missing from the pendent.'

She nodded and opened the lid, drawing out the jewel, stunned into silence by its beauty. She set the box aside and held its contents up to the light.

The top of the pendent was an intricate bow design in which numerous diamonds were set, a single round ruby in the very middle. Below this, an oval of diamonds and rubies encircled a single tear drop pearl, which was suspended on its own.

'I think I can guess, but I'd much rather hear your explanation,' she said, glancing up to him, then back to the pendent.

'The pearl is for thirty years, the rubies denote forty, and the diamonds are the symbol for sixty years, I suppose because they are hardwearing and very precious. I've no doubt, my love, that if we'd met earlier, if we'd found each other whilst working in a shop, as you once wistfully asked if I'd ever considered, we would have been celebrating that number around now. I don't regret the life I've lived, in the main, but it does make me sad on occasion that I've not had more time to be with you as we are now, although I'm sure my younger self would have infuriated you, and we'd have had a great many disagreements.'

She laughed and, setting down the pendent for a moment, smoothed her hand over his chest. 'Oh yes, I don't doubt it! But we would have reconciled quick enough.' She reached up to kiss him languidly and then drew back to pick up the fine jewel he had bestowed on her once more.

'It's beautiful Charles, and I'll treasure it. I'm not sure if I've got much suitable to wear it with though.'

'I considered that. I'm sure a decent jeweller would be able to attach a clasp to the bow. A brooch is much better suited to you.'

'Oh yes,' she agreed. 'That would do very well.'

She set the pendent back into the box and closed the lid before shifting upwards so that she could look into his eyes, getting lost in their dark depths as her hand trailed over his chest. His own hand lightly stroked the line of her jaw and then gripped her shoulder. Gently he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her repeatedly with a languid attention which seemed to suggest they had all the time in the world to love one another, which in a sense they had. She delighted in his quickened heartrate beneath her fingers, even as her own leapt and raced with desire as he caressed her.

As the daylight faded and evening drew in, they remained entwined, silently communicating the love they shared through the light caresses of their lips and the heated touch of their fingers.

Death would come to claim them, and their friends, as surely as autumn followed summer, but for now they were alive and very much in love, and that was enough to ensure their continued happiness.

 **A/N: My thanks to the wonderful Dibdab4 for encouraging me and betaing this chapter. Shout out to DaniiShep who suggested an idea for the 11** **th** **anniversary, which I didn't fully use, but the trip to Venice and the lace shawl (based on the one Deborah Kerr wears in An Affair to Remember) got a mention here. The back story to Mr Tiddles and the ducklings can be found in my idiotic fic 'The Downton Duckling Drama'.**

 **Pictures of the dresses, the pendent, the inspiration for the box, and a video of part of the Pas de Deux can be found on my tumblr (same name as my pen name here). I went to see Giselle in January this year, and found myself thinking about how perfect it would for this …. Yellow roses symbolise friendship, whilst pink denotes appreciation, love, grace and elegance.**

 **The Women's Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) was a real thing, and they were really cool. Marigold is in the middle of the ranks. If Daisy's daughters had been older, I like to think they would have been Land Girls. The South Riding does not exist, except in Winifred Holtby's imagination – it's just a little tip of the cap to Penelope Wilton.**

 **In my head, Bert and Beryl did make their 14** **th** **anniversary, but only just.**

 **Easter for me means going to stay with my grandmother, in the middle of Somerset, where there is absolutely NO phone or wifi signal, so there won't be an update for a while, although I certainly intend to WRITE quite a bit – this is not yet the end, but it is in sight, and I'm afraid you're probably all gonna need tissues!**

 **Reviews, as you might have guessed, make me very happy, so if you feel so inclined, sending some my way would set me up forever!**


	4. China (1945)

**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews so far. This chapter contains one of the original set pieces which ran through my mind and made me want to write this. As guest reviewer TeresaGreen noted in one of the earlier chapters, the overarching themes of this entire story are love and death; a trend which I am afraid continues here.**

 **This chapter is set in 1945, and I thought it would be useful to remind people of everyone's ages: Charles = 89; Elsie = 83; Mr Molesley = 72 (he was 51 in 1924); Miss Baxter = 65 (I would imagine she would have been mid 40s when the series ended); Anna = 59 (According to the Downton wiki she was born in 1886, making her older than I'd originally thought. Mr Bates would be at least 10, if not 15 years older than her, so he's late 60s early 70s); Daisy = 48 (15 in 1912, I would think). The following don't appear in this chapter, but just for reference: Beryl = 81; Isobel = 85; Lord Merton = 85 (who knows, pure artistic licence); Cora (and probably Robert) = 77. The younger generation: William Bates = 19; Frank and Peter Parker = 17; Rosemary Parker = 15; Sheila Parker = 14; Harry Parker = 9.**

 **My thanks to the wonderful DaniiShep for reading this through for me and discovering Anna's true age. She would like me to warn you all to have tissues at the ready and not listen to any sad music whilst you read this.**

 **Chapter 4: China (1945)**

Christmas Eve, 1945, began brightly enough for a winter's day and whilst it was not exactly sunny, the lightness of the clouds – now relieved of their heavy burden of snow – were enough to make a cheerful atmosphere.

Elsie Carson awoke, feeling the happy excitement of the season settle in her mind and smiled to herself even as she allowed her eyes to remain closed. There was no rush, after all. Stretching languidly in bed, her hand brushed the cool sheets on the other side and instantly her eyes were wide open and the relaxed, happy, feeling of her mind was dispelled.

The bed was not cold because he had risen early and gone downstairs to light the fires or prepare breakfast. She would not find him in the kitchen sitting with a cup of tea and a welcoming gleam in his eye as she entered. He would not be anywhere anymore, because he had died forty days ago and she had returned to sleeping alone – something she had done for the majority of her 83 years, but the last twenty had provided such close comfort that it was exceptionally difficult to move backwards.

There was no use lamenting her situation, however. Tears would not bring Charles back to her, and so, after allowing herself a caress or two of the sheets, she got up and dressed to meet the day.

It was lunchtime before events conspired to make her weep. She'd been clearing the table after her meal and grasped the beautiful Delft china milk jug Charles had discovered in a little Ripon antique shop, proudly presenting her with it for their 20th anniversary eight months ago. The handle, he had been warned, was a little weak, and therefore it should have come as no surprise that it would choose this moment to crack and slip out of her hand, meaning that she was now faced with the irony of crying over both split milk and broken china on her kitchen floor. She sank into the nearest chair and stared at the mess, unable to do anything but let the tears roll down her cheeks.

This was how Anna and Daisy found her, as they bustled through her front door, calling cheery hellos, only to be brought to a concerned halt as they entered her kitchen.

They stood frozen for a moment before Anna moved towards the weeping elder woman who had turned towards the table to try and hide her tears. Anna drew a chair round near to Elsie and sat, squeezing her hand until she felt strong enough to raise her head, whereupon Anna simply smiled and nodded in understanding.

Daisy, who had hung back a little, unsure, even now she was in her late forties, about how to deal with the tears of a woman who had been such a bastion of strength in her younger days, moved forward to gather the pieces of china in her hand. 'I'm sure Andy will be able to put this back together.' She said, shaking droplets of milk off a large piece, which had half a church depicted on it. 'It might be unusable, but at least it'll be whole.'

'Thank you.' Elsie spoke quietly, glancing at the puddle of milk in which shards of china gleamed. 'I'm sorry you had to see me like this.'

'Don't you dare apologise' Anna said fiercely. 'It's the smallest things which bring the tears. Why don't we go into the other room?'

'I'll bring some tea through.' Daisy said brightly, already hurrying about as if the kitchen were her own. Elsie nodded, stepping around the area of destruction, Anna's arm loosely about her shoulders, and the two women moved to the warmth of the sitting room.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' Elsie asked once Daisy had joined them with the tea. 'Not that I mind such lovely company, of course, but I'm seeing you all tomorrow.'

'Beryl threw us out.' Daisy said, cheerfully enough, laughing as she passed the others a cup of tea. 'She said she couldn't be expected to produce Christmas lunch for twelve if we were all under her feet and less helpful than Ivy when she was making eyes at Jimmy. The boys have taken Harry to build snowmen …'

'Boys!' interrupted Elsie, rolling her eyes. 'William is twenty in a week and has spent the last year dropping bombs on Berlin, Frank and Peter are 17, and wish they'd been doing that, and all three of them are taller than their fathers. They are hardly boys.'

'William will always be my boy,' Anna said softly, sharing a knowing smile with Daisy.

Elsie's own smile grew as she recalled the wait Anna had had for a child of her own before turning to Daisy. 'Did Beryl not want your help preparing the food?'

'I've been replaced! Sheila's proved herself a quick study and has been chopping vegetables with almost military precision all morning.'

Elsie smiled as she pictured the scene that was most likely playing out in the farm kitchen. 'She's doing alright at school though still?'

'Oh, she is. I'm only sorry Mr Molesley retired before she takes the matric, although he's been kind enough to offer to coach her whenever she wants.'

'Well,' mused Anna, 'he's bound to be at a bit of a loose end during the day, given Mrs Molesley is still showing no signs of retiring. John sees him in the Grantham Arms most lunchtimes.'

'Mrs Molesley is just sixty five, I'll thank you young ladies to remember! I was only a year older when I left, and I like to think I could have continued for another decade if Mr Carson hadn't retired.' Elsie's eyes dropped to her hands for a moment, as her mind conjured images of her husband, but she pushed the latent sorrow to one side and smiled as she looked back at Anna. 'I'm so glad you and Mr Bates took the lease of the pub rather than moving away. It means a lot to have you close.'

'Oh, I know. I thought at first that staying in the village would make it difficult to leave the past behind, but Lady Mary was so kind when William was born that it felt wrong to give that up.'

'And William's so good with my brood.' Daisy added. 'I never had cousins or close family when I was young. Downton blessed me in so many ways.'

'It blessed us all,' murmured Elsie, smiling fondly, if a little sadly.

The three women fell to silence as they drank their tea, thinking over all the opportunities that they had experienced and never thought to have when first they went into service.

Daisy glanced down at the floor, seemingly in thought, her eye catching Anna's. She had shared the real reason for her visit on the walk to the cottage, but having found Elsie in tears, she now did not just want to complete her task as bluntly as she had planned. Looking around the sitting room, she saw the bookcase in the corner, and remembered Mr Carson mentioning something which would help ease her into what she had to do.

'Oh – I almost forgot – Sheila asked if she could borrow your copy of _Jane Eyre_?'

'Of course – you know where it is.'

Daisy stood and moved to the bookcase, pulling the book she sought off the shelf. She flicked through the pages, bursting into giggles as she looked down at one in particular.

'What's so funny?' Anna asked, guessing Daisy's plan, but surprised that she should have found something to laugh about. She got up to look over Daisy's shoulder and laughed herself, casting an amused glance in Elsie's direction.

'Mr Carson inscribed a message on the flyleaf, did you know? It says _'Rest assured there are no mad women in the attics of Downton, you'd have found them out by now. I can't promise the same for the wine cellar.'_

Elsie snorted, rolling her eyes fondly. 'I'd forgotten that one. I've not picked it up in over five years. He bought and inscribed them all for our first anniversary.'

'Paper,' whispered Anna, smiling as she turned over the page. Elsie noticed her smile fading before she shared a quick, questioning, look with Daisy. Her eyes turned back to the book, and she gave a little cry of sympathetic heartbreak as she pressed her hand to her mouth.

'Anna?' Elsie queried.

Daisy leaned her shoulder against Anna's in a silent gesture of encouragement and support, whilst Anna took a breath and moved back to Elsie, sitting next to her on the sofa.

'He's written something else. It's dated November 1st of this year.'

Handing the book across, Elsie looked down at the page. There, Charles had, indeed, inscribed a further message in a far shakier hand than the earlier one. _'I know the cord that binds us will stretch as far as heaven and whilst the tension will tug at your heart at times, it will stand the strain.'_

Elsie was dimly aware of Daisy sitting on the other side of her as she struggled to master her emotions, sick to death of weeping which would not change things. It was only as she felt Daisy's tentative touch that she was brought back to the present.

'I'm alright, I promise.'

'I know you are. But I've got something that might help.'

Daisy reached for her handbag and pulled a thick envelope from it, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she placed it in Elsie's hands. Looking down, Elsie was shocked to see her name in Charles's wavering script, and she glanced swiftly up at Daisy in confusion.

'He gave me that on November 1st. He said I was to give it to you on your next anniversary, the proposal or your wedding, whichever came first.'

Daisy and Anna shared a glance as Elsie's attention remained fixed on the envelope, her fingertips tracing her name, and Anna leaned forward to touch Elsie's shoulder.

'We'll leave you to read it.'

'No, don't go just yet,' Elsie replied, sending a wavering smile to both women. 'This will keep. Stay a little longer.'

They did, and another hour of happy conversation was shared until Daisy deemed it safe to return home. 'Andy will come with the car to drive you to church tomorrow,' she promised, silencing Elsie's protests that it was unnecessary by pointing to the snow outside. The women made their way home, knowing that their friend would have an emotional journey to go on that evening.

It was not until close to 9p.m. that evening that Elsie finally allowed herself to open the letter. If she had to receive such a thing on this anniversary, she wanted to enjoy the comfort closest to the time she had actually agreed to become Mrs Carson, although she'd not actually taken note of the hour when he'd spirited her away.

She retired to the bedroom, changed into her nightgown and turned all but the bedside lights out. Pausing by the wardrobe as she hung up her clothes, she brushed her hand over Charles's dressing gown, the only item of his clothing she had kept, and then pulled it off the hanger, wrapping it around herself. The scent of his aftershave, tooth powder, and the slight hint of silver polish that had lingered long after he had stopped using it pervaded her senses as she was enveloped by the fabric, the hem of which pooled at her feet, the garment being double the length she needed.

She climbed into bed, propping the pillows behind her, slit the envelope, drew out the enclosed pages, and began to read. The fingers of her left hand gently touched her lips in reassurance as she took in the handwriting.

 _Dearest Elsie June 1945_

 _Do not be alarmed, my love, when you open this and see the date, and wonder if I have kept some lingering illness from you. My decision to write has nothing to do with my health. At present I feel perfectly well, and I sincerely hope that it will be years before I have to hand this over to someone for safe delivery._

 _The idea I have had is simply to provide you with some comfort on the anniversary closest to my death. I hope it will be delivered on our wedding anniversary, which might sound strange, but I know you understand, and indeed agree with me, that my proposal was somehow more precious, given the fact we concealed our love until that moment. If events should conspire against this, however, I hope that this letter will prove to be a solace. I cannot bear the thought of your unhappiness._

 _I think it is the joyful prospect of the end of the war that has me contemplating my life and my union with you. True, the conflict is not completely at an end, but last month we celebrated victory in Europe day, listened to his Majesty on the radio give thanks, and shared the joy of Downton's many families as they rejoiced in the safe return of their children. Well, most of them. We have some more names to add to the village memorial, but that sad thought is for another time, and we honour those that we have lost in the celebration of peace._

 _I hope I've showed you, these last twenty years, how happy you've made me? We may well have had our disagreements, and I freely admit to acting like a fool in those first months, when I found it hard to adjust to what being a married man really meant, but through all of it, I have never loved you any less than the day I laid my heart bare and offered myself to your tender care and protection. In fact, I have loved you more each day, and in all your moods._

 _Do you know how beautiful you look when you are angry with me? Your eyes glint, your cheeks flush – it's really quite intoxicating. In fact (and I only admit this knowing that I will be safe from retribution when you read this) I have, on one or two occasions, deliberately incurred your anger, just to see your spirit flare._

 _I have just chuckled to myself, drawing your attention from whatever it is you are stitching. I've brushed it off as nothing, claiming I'm writing to Lady Edith (there, I have capitulated on that form address at last) on the information I've uncovered on the link between Mr Talbot's illustrious ancestors and Mary, Queen of Scots. You have settled back to your task in the evening light, the sun low behind the trees of our little garden, bathed in the glow of the table lamp by your side, switched on at my insistence so that you do not strain your eyes._

 _I do so love you in the lamp light (as you are well aware). The softness of it truly brings out your beauty. And you are so very beautiful. I have always thought so. I have never told you, tucking this memory away for some unknown reason, but when we first met, some forty six years ago, my first thought was that I had better keep a close eye on the footmen, as they were sure to be entranced by the new head housemaid's good looks._

 _Perhaps they were, I don't really remember now, but you soon proved yourself to care little for any flirtations, and within three years of your arrival you had become housekeeper. A testament to your skills, my darling._

 _I was never immune to your charms, although I only realised my attraction had deepened to something much, much more lasting and true at the time of your illness – as you well know by now. But sometimes, you would glance my way, turn your head just so, twitch your lips in amusement, or the light would fall on you in a particular way, and I would be struck by how very lovely you were._

 _I can hardly keep my eyes from wandering over to you at this very moment. You are sitting with half your body turned to the light, your head twisted in what must surely be an uncomfortable pose, to ensure you do not cast a shadow over your stitching, and it gives me a wonderful view of your neck … Your tongue has just darted out between your lips and the tip is fixed there as you concentrate … It's no use, Elsie, the rest of this missive will have to wait. I need to kiss my beautiful wife.'_

Elsie expelled a soft breath as she remembered being drawn from darning an old sock by Charles's unexpected movement to sit beside her on the sofa. He had pulled her face towards him and kissed her fully, passionately, tenderly, love and adoration pouring from him in waves, and she had never really known what had inspired his actions. All he had whispered was 'I love you, Mrs Carson' as she had sighed in breathless desire, and they had retired to bed early, holding each other, kissing and making love slowly, their bodies for once belying their age and allowing them the full expression of their passion.

It was, she realised, the last time they had joined together as man and wife, although they had never ceased to kiss and touch each other tenderly, even in his final days. A true and full marriage indeed.

Elsie's hand drifted from her lips to settle over her heart, as she turned the page and began to read once more.

 _August 1945_

 _I confess myself to have been distracted. You see what your beauty does to me? I have deemed it to be safer to continue whilst you are out on errands in the village._

 _I never thought that marriage could be such a fulfilling thing. Even in my younger days, when I thought it was all I wanted, I did not actually understand what it would mean to me. The example Lord and Lady Grantham showed, and still show, should – I suppose – have told me that soul mates exist, but it was not until you agreed to be mine, until we were actually wed, and on this precious journey together that I fully grasped a most important fact. There can be no one else but you Elsie. No other woman in the world would ever have been able to complete me as you do. As Henry James once wrote, 'It has made me better, loving you.' You have challenged my prejudices, softened my gruffness, and filled this heart of mine to completion._

 _I love you, have loved you, and will continue to love you with every fibre of my being and every particle of my soul._

 _I think this will suffice for now. I am going to put this away and only return to it when I believe I am near the end. It amuses me to know that at present I feel so well, I could almost believe we_ _will_ _make thirty years together. We shall see._

Coincidence had caused the page to come to an end at the same time as his sentiments, and Elsie took a long and shaky breath before she felt the strength needed to turn the page. She was shocked to realise when she did so that the handwriting did not belong to her husband.

 _1_ _st_ _November 1945_

 _Darling,_

 _Fate perhaps thought I was being over confident when I last wrote, and the three months interim have brought about a rapid change of health. A lingering cold, turning to bronchitis and now, Sybbie (or should I say the soon-to-be Dr Branson) believes, pneumonia, have left me considerably weaker, and I do not feel I have the strength to fight it off as I did seven years ago._

 _You know all of this, I could not conceal it even if I wanted to, and I believe you know the end is near even though we don't discuss it. I wanted to finish this letter, but the constant coughing, and my shaky hands, make it hard to hold a pen for any length of time. I have asked Daisy to come and take dictation, whilst I have sent you off for a bit of respite with Isobel._

 _Daisy will deliver this for me, and it breaks my heart to know it will most likely come to you on Christmas Eve. We have stuck together through thick and thin for so long, my love, I only wish I could be stuck with you for a little longer. [I've just made Mr Carson pause in his dictation to explain that odd phrasing, and he has told me exactly how he proposed, something I never really knew until now. That's honestly the most romantic proposal I've ever heard.]_

 _Now that Daisy has ceased her aside, and promised not to cry over the paper, I have one last thing to say before I seal up the envelope._

 _I want you to be happy Elsie. That may sound idiotic, impossible even, but what I really mean is that I want you to carry on living. At the time of writing, you are 83, which is a fair age, I grant you, but not the right time for you to be buried._

 _You have so much spirit, I do not believe you would cast away the years which remain; I cannot envision you pining or wasting away for the loss of me. I do not doubt your love, not in the slightest, but I believe we have created a great many wonderful memories to sustain and cheer you through the years until it is your time to join me._

 _Do not misunderstand me. I shall wait impatiently in heaven for you. I'll count the days until I hold you in my arms once more, but I can be patient when the end result is that I shall do so for all eternity._

 _I've had Daisy bring me your copy of Jane Eyre and she's instructions to get you to read the message I will inscribe before you read this. She does not know what it says, but I hope you agree with me that although we have been parted by the only thing that could ever separate us, we are still as closely joined as we ever were._

 _Live well, my darling Elsie. Continue to be the support and joyful companion to your friends in the time left to you, and know I will be waiting to welcome you back into my arms when the time finally comes. I love you now as I have done for so many years, and shall continue to do so, in spirit. Death cannot stop true love, the connection between us will continue._

 _Live Elsie, and I will remain in your heart and soul until the blessed day we two are reunited._

 _With all my heartfelt love and desire, I am now and forever more,_

 _Your Charles._

The last page of the letter fluttered to join the others as Elsie sank down under the bed covers, a few tears wetting the pillow beneath her cheek. She did not weep completely, knowing it to be futile after the instructions Charles had pressed upon her. In truth, she felt happier than she had done since the day of his death, his words having done their best to fill the cracks in her heart. The lapels of his dressing gown fell across her face and her senses were once again filled with the smells and images they conjured up which were so uniquely him.

He was right when he had declared her not to be the kind of woman to pine away, and although she missed his presence keenly, she would do her very best to follow his request.

She would count the days also, as well as the years of love they had shared, and when the time finally came for her to join him, her history would show her to be a woman of keen mind and independence, who had also known the truest, deepest love of all. Death was only a pause, a delay, to their shared eternal happiness.

 **A/N: Are you all alright? Because I have to confess to some tears as I typed that out. I have a stash of tissues for anyone who needs them. Musical inspiration comes from the song 'I'll count the days', which can be found on the latest Downton album. I think it's supposed to be a Mary/Matthew love song, but it fits so well here. And yes, that Henry James quote is from him (A Portrait of a Lady in fact), and not just me being snooty, and ascribing a literary provenance to a line from As Good as it Gets – in fact, I'd be willing to lay money on it being the other way around. Kudos to anyone who recognises where my film inspiration comes from (not Sound of Music this time – I know, what a shock, right!).**

 **Sybbie would be 25 at this point, and I think would have been just on the cusp of completing her medical training – I'm assuming these things would have carried on during the war, and she would have done her studies , whilst being a nurse, tending to the wounded. I like the idea of her being a doctor. Now is not the time to go into detail about wartime conditions, although I'd love to explore what happened to Yew Tree Farm and Downton – I don't doubt the farm was overrun with land girls, and that the village would have been filled with evacuees. York itself was bombed in 1942. Plot bunnies are currently bounding all over the place in terms of Downton in WW2 – it would be fascinating (I'm thinking Home Fires, but with Highclere in the background!).**

 **The Tudor Earl of Shrewsbury was the jailor (for want of a better word) of Mary, Queen of Scots when she fled to England – even being housed at Chatsworth for a time, which belonged to the Earl's wife, Bess of Hardwick, who was a formidable woman. The Earl fell in love with the Queen, so legend goes. Philippa Gregory wrote a novel about it (The Other Queen) which I read this week. I like the idea of our own Henry Talbot, around 28** **th** **in line for the Earldom in Downton, paralleling this romance with his very own Mary. Again, go away plot bunnies.**

 **There is one more chapter to go. Reviews are the gold stars I get, which make writing worth while, and help me to know that I have touched you in a small way. One or two of them would set me up forever!**


	5. Silver (1950) and Pearl (1955)

**A/N: Well, this is it. I'd like to thank those of you who have taken the time to review, or support me on tumblr as I went through this. Major props to DaniiShep and Dibdab4 for the conversations about who would be alive when, which was traumatic, and my eternal thanks to brenna-louise for betaing. And for the amazing artwork she produced for this final chapter. It's on my tumblr – go check it out.**

 **You are getting two for one in this chapter. Partly because I didn't think the small scenes could make whole chapters on their own, but also because I think it's better to get all this sorrow over and done with as soon as possible.**

 **Silver (1950)**

Spring in the village of Downton was always glorious, and as Elsie Carson walked steadily through it towards the churchyard, she took in the bright daffodils, primroses and bluebells, and heard the shrill call of the baby birds as they waited impatiently in their nests to be fed.

The sun was bright and there was barely a cloud in the sky, which had certainly not been the case on the same day twenty five years ago. Then, the light in Charles's eyes as they had married had more than made up for the delinquency of the weather.

She moved slowly, not because her age demanded it, but rather due to the fact she was mentally retracing the events of the day so many years before. She had awoken in the half light, the outlines of her special outfit looming out of the darkness, Beryl (wonderful, dear, sorely missed Beryl who had quietly slipped away nine months ago) had brought her a cup of tea whilst Anna and Phyllis had arrived in great state and insisted on dressing her as if she had been the lady of the house.

She had been driven down these streets (insisting even with the honour of it in sitting up front), the lanes and people going about their business taking on a new colour and significance, and then drawn up to the church, the other women all hurrying up the path to join the congregation as she waited a moment longer and said a prayer of thanks.

Pausing by the gate now, she rested a gloved hand on the post and looked up at the building. There, the last chapter of her life had begun. She swung open the gate and walked steadily up the path, but she did not go all the way to the church, veering off to the left instead, crossing the grass until she found what she sought.

A rounded headstone, slightly weather-beaten, with the simple inscription: _Here lies Mr Charles Carson, b. 17 May 1856, d. 14_ _th_ _November 1945_

'Hello Charles. Happy anniversary.'

She stood in contemplation of the headstone, communing silently with her husband and directing her love towards the earth beneath her feet. The wind picked up slightly and she pulled the sides of her coat together, shivering a little. The fact it did not have any buttons had not been an issue twenty five years ago, and the removal of the fur collar which had been imperative when the coat had become hers, rather than a loan, felt like a foolish decision now. She was grateful for the bulky scarf she had wound around her neck, a gift from William after he had left the air force at the end of the war.

What had possessed her to pull on this particular coat as she had prepared to leave the house she still wasn't quite sure, except that she felt like indulging memories. It was more than honouring the day, wearing it honoured the people who had helped her too.

She had stood there for more than ten minutes before a warm Irish brogue cut through the quiet morning.

'Irises must be quite hard to come by at this time of year.'

She started out of her reverie and flashed a smile in Tom's direction before returning her gaze to the grave, leaning down to place the deep blue flowers she had been holding at the foot of the headstone. Straightening up, she felt Tom come and stand next to her. He did not put his arm about her, or touch her in any way except to briefly press the corner of his shoulder against hers.

'I'm very lucky to know some excellent gardeners. Mr Brock always made a point of sending me flowers to match the anniversary year, and when he retired, he made sure Mr Pegg continued.'

'That's a fine gesture,' mused Tom, glancing Elsie's way and smiling as their eyes met. 'I'd wager the colour isn't just chance either.'

'Ah!' Elsie's eyes twinkled, although she did not smile. 'I've taught you well. Blue Irises denote faith and hope. Rather apt, I think.'

Nodding in agreement, Tom turned back to the grave, dipping his head to contemplate the earth. 'Hello Mr Carson. Your wife is very wise and looking lovely today, although I'm sure you're well aware of it.'

Elsie gave a short huff of amusement and nudged Tom's shoulder. 'Flatterer. I'm 88, you can hardly call me lovely.'

Tom turned to her, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked at her in mock scrutiny. 'Well, it's true enough that your hair is completely white now, and there are more lines about your eyes, but in essentials you are exactly the same wonderful woman who sat before me and helped me bear the pain of suddenly being without my wife.'

Elsie did not utter a word of thanks, nor say the praise was unnecessary, and that she had done what she could to lessen his grief. She understood much better now how precious was the support of friends who understood, and so she just tilted her head in acknowledgement at the compliments and raised her eyebrow at the grave. _Wonderful woman? You'd say that was Celtic excess I suppose!_

Tom glanced at the sky, the clouds having shut out the sun and now starting to turn an ominous grey.

'I think it might be time to leave.'

'I suppose so, but I've got some other people to see first.'

Elsie caressed the curve of her husband's grave once more and then moved off, deeper into the graveyard, Tom following close behind. She weaved around the stones, giving a nod of recognition towards many of them, including Mr Molesley senior, Mr Travis and Dr Clarkson, who had died not long after Charles, before coming to a stop in front of one grave in particular.

It read _Here lies Mr Albert Mason. B. 20_ _th_ _May 1864, D. 10_ _th_ _October 1940. Also, his wife Mrs Beryl Mason. B. 10_ _th_ _February 1864, D. 12_ _th_ _August 1949. Gone for a trip up the Nile._

'I've never understood the relevance of that last line,' chuckled Tom. 'It's not a quotation as far as I can tell.'

'In a way it is.' Elsie said, dabbing away the tears which had sprung up. 'You'll remember that Beryl's way of … ordering her staff about was acerbic to the point of waspish at times. This was apparently part of one of the barbs she directed towards Daisy, although none of us could remember the precise timing when Daisy was reminiscing a year or so ago. It tickled Beryl though, and she suggested it as a suitable epitaph.'

Tom laughed in appreciation then cast a glance up at the sky again, as the wind whipped about them. 'We should find some shelter. I think Isobel would be willing to give us a cup of tea.'

'Just one more.' Elsie said, putting a hand on Tom's arm and directing him towards the other side of the graveyard. 'Then I'll be a good old woman and do whatever you wish.'

'I wasn't trying to order …' Tom started to protest, before he was cut short by an amused chuckle.

'I know. Sometimes I forget I'm 88. In many ways I don't feel any older than the day I married Mr Carson. I'm almost the age he was when he died, but I feel no closer to the grave, although I'll admit the emotion of today has tired me more than I expected.'

They had reached her destination as she finished speaking and Tom found himself gazing at a very familiar tomb, _Sybil Cora Branson_ engraved upon its side. He did not utter a word, but placed his hand over the one Elsie gripped his arm with, and squeezed it appreciatively.

'She would be so proud of your achievements you know. And your daughter's.'

'I know. I had a call from Sybbie just yesterday. She says she falls in love with Edinburgh even more each month.'

'Ah, well that's her Celtic heritage for you,' laughed Elsie, her eyes sparkling, 'The hospital is lucky to have her. As is Jamie.'

'That he is,' agreed Tom quietly, a pensive look clouding his face.

Elsie heard the change in his tone and turned to look at him. 'She'll be fine when the baby comes. Tom? She will.'

'I know. But you can't stop a father worrying.'

'No,' Elsie agreed softly.

'I had a call from Mary yesterday too,' Tom said brightly.

'Oh yes? How was her trip across the Atlantic?'

'Uneventful, apparently. She was in ever such a panic though.'

'Why? Were there more engagement functions than she had planned for?'

Mary and Henry had gone to America in order to announce the engagement of George to Fiona Rothschild, whom he had briefly met during the war and romanced over the last year. Much merriment had been had imagining what the late Dowager would have said had she known there was to be yet another American Countess of Grantham.

'Oh, nothing she couldn't handle,' Tom replied, grinning. 'No, she was in a panic over you.'

'Me? Whatever for?'

'Well, perhaps I should say your anniversary. She thought she'd forgotten it, and when I assured her this was not the case, she dictated this letter to you.'

Tom reached into his jacket pocket and produced an envelope which he began to hand over. As he did so, however, there was a great rumble of thunder and raindrops started to fall. Sharing a grin, the two turned from Sybil's grave and dashed towards Crawley House.

The front door was open when they reached it, Isobel standing in the frame and gesturing for them to hurry.

'I saw you wandering around the graveyard from the upstairs window,' she called brightly. 'Get in out of the wet!'

The pair crossed the threshold laughing and Isobel enveloped Elsie in a hug. 'Happy anniversary' she whispered in her ear.

'Thank you.' Drawing back, Elsie studied the tired face of her friend. 'How's Dickie?'

'Fading,' Isobel answered, the look on her face conveying all the details Elsie knew too well. 'But he'll be glad I saw you today. What's that?' She nodded to the envelope Elsie held.

'I've no idea, except for the fact Tom says it's a message from your daughter-in-law. Tom won't tell me a thing about it.'

'Well, let's have some tea, and then we can unravel the mystery!' Isobel said merrily, moving into the sitting room.

'Are you sure?' Elsie looked back into the hall, 'I don't want to take you away from ….'

'The nurse is with him for now.' Isobel interrupted. 'She'll fetch me if I'm …. If …. Let us have this moment, Elsie. Please?'

Elsie nodded in complete understanding of what it was Isobel needed at that moment and moved to sit on a sofa, the others sitting on the one opposite.

Once tea had been served and Elsie's coat hung up so that the rain did not cause permanent damage, Tom explained a little more about the phone call he had received.

'She was quite moved as she explained her request to me, and we went through at least three drafts before she was happy with how the note sounded.'

'Well!' exclaimed Elsie, looking at the envelope in bafflement. 'I suppose I'd better put myself out of my misery.'

Slitting the envelope, she pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read it in silence, a hundred emotions flitting across her face as Isobel and Tom watched her.

 _Dear Mrs Carson,_

 _You will remember that a few days before Mr Carson died he asked you to leave his side for a few minutes, so he could speak to me alone. You did not outwardly begrudge me this, and I expect you thought he was using the time to bid me a proper farewell._

 _In fact, his first words as you left the room were to murmur 'I thank whatever gods may be for her unconquerable soul' and then asked me to take something from a drawer in the wardrobe. He instructed me to give you the package on your twenty fifth anniversary. I do not know what is in it, but I hope it brings you joy._

 _He did bid farewell after that. Told me how proud he was that I had made a success of running Downton and found new happiness after Matthew died._

 _You returned to the room not long after with some medicine or other, and that look – the one I mentioned to you when we were debating your retirement – suffused his face. You brought him so much love and comfort in those final days, and I know he did the same for you, because his look of deep affection was reflected in your eyes. You loved each other so much and I feel so honoured to have witnessed it._

 _I hope the day is as happy as it can be._

 _Mary_

Elsie silently handed the letter to Isobel and turned to Tom, her eyes wide in expectation.

'I had a devil of a job finding it – Mrs Molseley and I turned half the house upside down. I only hope this is what she meant.' He drew out a rectangular package carefully wrapped in cloth, tied with string, and a brown label inscribed with her name attached.

Fairly certain she knew what she held in her hands, she slipped off the string and pulled back the cloth. Sure enough, a silver picture frame, quite plain, although there was some tiny detailing around the edge, was revealed. The very one she had presented to him all those years ago, albeit slightly tarnished now. A piece of paper covered the middle of the frame.

'You old booby.' She chuckled to herself quietly. She had often wondered what had happened to it, although she had never mentioned its absence from the collection of other frames in the sitting room. She had assumed he had put it away, but she'd not found it when she had gone through his things after his death. Had it really lived at the bottom of their wardrobe all these years?

The piece of paper fell forward into her lap and she was astounded to find that she was not looking at the formal depiction of Alice Neal. Not, now that she thought about it, that she had ever really expected otherwise, or thought about it overmuch. If he had kept the picture she would not have been hurt, it was as much a part of him as all the rest. But he hadn't, or at least, not with the frame.

There was a picture however, and she gave a cry of surprise. 'Oh! Charles …' She looked up to see the warm and concerned smiles Isobel and Tom wore. Passing them the frame she explained 'I thought we'd lost that picture.'

Charles had placed a snapshot taken in Venice during their holiday to celebrate her 75th birthday. A flock of pigeons had taken flight, startling the camera man, and they'd still been laughing when he had taken a second snap. The mirth was written on their faces as they glanced at each other, his body angled towards her. The entire world, including the magnificent Doge's Palace behind them, was forgotten. It was just them.

Passing the frame to Tom she looked down, noticing for the first time that the slip of paper which had covered the picture had writing on it, in Charles's unmistakable hand.

 _Darling,_

 _Did you think I would neglect our silver anniversary just because I would not be there? In case you wondered, Alice stayed a very short while on my desk. I disposed of her photograph the week before I bought the house. You had the whole of my heart. The frame was bundled into a box of things when we moved to the cottage, and it was not until our first anniversary that I thought of it again. I hope you've been happy for however long we've been separated. My love for you will outlast my life, and this picture frame symbolises that longevity._

 _Happy anniversary my love._

 _Charles._

She could not stop the tears flowing as she read the words and it was not until she felt Isobel wrap her in her arms that she realised the other woman had moved. She wept on her friend's shoulder for the man she had lost and Isobel wept with her for the one she was about to relinquish, whilst outside, the weather continued to pour torrents of rain against the window in what seemed to Tom to be some sort of meteorological sympathy.

There was, however, a strength to their emotion; a cathartic quality in allowing themselves to let go. Tom could see the two women crumble and rebuild themselves in the embrace and marvelled at the strength of the love they, as well as he, had been lucky enough to experience.

As the women pulled apart at last, Elsie handed Isobel the note and flashed a rueful smile at Tom, reaching out to squeeze his offered hand.

'Alice,' mused Isobel, 'Would she and the frame have anything to do with that gruff Mr Grigg you had me help all those years ago?'

Elsie nodded and started to explain the intricate story to her friends, revealing in that tale the foundations of a love which had shone like a beacon between them. Outside, the rain continued, but in Elsie's heart the love she had for her husband, living and dead, dried out the brief misery she had felt, leaving only a bright happiness in remembrance of all she had experienced.

CE&CE&CE

CE&CE&CE

 **Pearl (1955)**

The sun shone brightly in a way that seemed to suggest to Daisy, busily moving about the Carson's kitchen, that spring had finally arrived, and that the bright green leaves would soon be pushing through the branches.

New life was everywhere, which made the reason for her presence in the kitchen that much harder to bear.

She refused to cry yet though. There had been far too many reasons for weeping these past years. With the children growing up, she should have spent her time in church wearing bright colours and celebrating love, instead of which she was usually wearing black and praying for the souls of the departed.

Dickie Merton had lost his battle with cancer in the summer of 1950, and although Isobel had struggled gamely on alone (again), no one had been unduly surprised when she had quietly died in the spring of 1952.

It was Lord Grantham's death that had come as the greatest shock to the community. As with King George VI, the war had made an old man of him. The many atrocities both on and off the battlefield chilled the blood and made one wonder about man's capacity for evil. The bombardment of London had made the deepest impression on his health, however. He had worried himself sick over Sybbie's safety throughout the blitz, and then it was Rosamund who had forfeited her life when her house took a direct hit in the so called 'little blitz' of 1944. Robert Crawley had died in 1951, aged 83.

Now, only Lady Grantham and Mrs Carson survived of the old guard, the adults Daisy had known since she first came to Downton, and unless she was very much mistaken, after today only Cora would remain. Daisy sighed and continued making the tea.

Upstairs, the warm sun peeked in at a bedroom that was considerably fuller than it normally would be. Four women stood or sat around the bed, which contained the sleeping form of Elsie Carson.

'Do you think we should wake her?' whispered Anna, moving from her seat by the wall to stand at Cora's shoulder. 'It's almost time for her medication.'

Cora, who had kept vigil by the bedside of her former housekeeper and valued friend for five days, leaned forward to see if Elsie could be woken, but Anna's words seemed to have broken a hushed spell and caused the object of her concern to stir.

Elsie fluttered her eyes open slowly, the light paining her slightly as she drew out of the fractured sleep she had been falling in and out of.

'Oh,' she said, smiling up at the concerned faces of Anna and Cora. 'Hello.'

She moved her head slowly in the direction of the light and gave a soft gasp as her gaze fell across the woman who stood by the window, professionally kitted out in medical uniform, but also clearly heavily pregnant.

'Oh – Lady Sybil. Have you come to …?'

'That's not Sybil,' Cora broke in, gripping Elsie's hand. 'Sybbie's come from Edinburgh. You remember, she's been looking after your care for a few days.' Her tone was soft yet anguished as she glanced at her granddaughter. Yes, the similarity was remarkable. Although her daughter had never reached the age of thirty five, she knew this blooming woman was the very copy of her.

'Oh yes.' Elsie smiled, looking back at the woman who now moved from the window and settled in the chair on the other side of the bed. 'You looked so like your mother in that bright sunshine.'

Elsie lapsed into silence for a while, and the women thought she had fallen asleep once more. Marigold left to see if Daisy needed help with the tea, knowing that the woman's protracted absence would have very little to do with the intricacy of lighting the range or any other domestic triviality.

None of them spoke, but a shared sense of an impending event permeated the room. It was shocking, therefore, when Elsie's voice, quieter than before, cracked through the stillness.

'I'm feeling a little chilled. Anna, would you get me a wrap? There's one in the top drawer of the dresser, I believe.'

Anna did as requested and her eyes misted over as she pulled the beautiful Venetian lace shawl from its place. She recognised it immediately – all the women had coveted it when they'd first seen it.

Between them, she and Sybbie drew the wrap about Elsie's shoulders, allowing her to settle back against the piled up pillows once more.

Elsie's eyes were fully open as she now took in the beautiful light pouring through her window.

 _Sunny_ , she thought. The fact it was not raining comforted her. She saw no reason that the weather should mourn along with everyone else. Not today. Whatever today was. _I've lost all track,_ she mused, and summoned the strength to voice her meandering thoughts.

'I keep meaning to ask – have I asked? – What's the date?'

Cora leaned forward to take her hand and smiled into Elsie's eyes, the kindness in them saying all the things she could not voice. 'It's the 12th April 1955.' Her eyes sparkled with merriment in amongst the unshed tears as they shared an unspoken agreement that their marriages continued even though their partners had not.

Delight spread over Elsie's face. 'Ah!' she breathed, moving her head so that she lay looking up at the ceiling. 'You see Charlie, I told you we'd make it.'

Silence enfolded the room once more as Elsie allowed her thoughts to drift, the memories of the last thirty years, and more, swirling through her mind.

Perhaps she slept, the women watching over her were not sure, but gradually her steady breathing grew shallower and softer, and then, before she woke once more, she breathed her last and slipped away to join her husband.

Elsie Carson's death on her thirtieth anniversary was a momentous and distressing event for all that knew and loved her, but in truth part of her had died ten years before, with her husband. It was not a visible death, indeed she lived just as he had wished her to, but a secret part of her soul, which had thrummed with delight whenever he spoke her name in a way so particular to him, ceased to exist on that November day in 1945. It worked both ways, however, and a tiny sliver of Charles Carson was kept alive long after his mortal remains grew cold, and only in the moment after her quiet whisper did he finally, and completely, cease to be.

Their lives were entwined; had been since the moment she arrived in the servant's hall as head housemaid over fifty years ago, although they were not aware of it quite then. It was the thirty years of their marriage that proved the link and opened up a world of possibility and love that neither of them had expected. In the furnace of that friendship – forged in the fires of hard work and mutual respect – the sparks of love were kindled, strengthening the bond Elsie had first truly felt well before their feelings fanned into the conflagration which was to mark the years which remained. As Charles had foretold, the connection between them was not cracked just because the fire was no longer fed by new emotion. Absence was no barrier to love, and their hearts were filled with the other, in their separate places, until death reunited them once and for all.

 **A/N: Life and death, huh? ….. I don't even have the words anymore. Big themes, which I hope I've handled well. That last paragraph took DAYS – thanks to my three amigos, DaniiShep, Brenna-Louise and Belovedrival, for helping me push through.**

 **My thanks also to DaniiShep for the idea that the war would make an old man of Lord Grantham. It has often been said that the trials of being King unexpectedly, and the pressures of the war, contributed to making George VI old before his time, and making him unable to fight the cancer which killed him so prematurely. The cigarettes prescribed to help his stutter can't have helped either.**

 **The line Mary quotes Charles as saying in her letter is an adapted line from William Henley's 1875 (published 1888) poem Invictus, which he wrote when he had to have his leg amputated. The original line reads 'I thank whatever gods may be/For my unconquerable soul.' I was listening to a radio programme some months ago (about what, I cannot now remember, but I think it had something to do with Nelson Mandela, who often quoted the poem whilst in prison) and it seemed to be a perfect description of Elsie.**

 **I was inspired by a quote from the artist Bansky for the final thoughts. He said 'They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.' I thought that was a really powerful thing, but it could also work the other way, as I suggested.**

 **You will all be completely unsurprised to learn that writing this piece has exhausted me, both physically and mentally. It is the hardest thing I've ever written, and I have great admiration for those writers who can manage to deal with angst on a regular basis. The creative process has thrown up some interesting issues for me, particularly how my mental state appears to be linked to how many reviews I get. This is not the reason I started to write, and I need to take some time to take stock and figure out how to get back to the buzz simply writing gives me. I think this will probably involve not producing anything new for a bit, although who knows, right? I don't lack for ideas. I'm not saying this in a quest for sympathy, I just need to explain my probable absence.**

 **Thank you once again for coming with me on this journey, I would love to know what you thought of this final chapter.**


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